


Revisit

by EvoFTG



Series: The Lord and The Consort [1]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Aurumshipping, Bestiality, Canon Compliant, Gender-Neutral Arceus, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Romance, Interspecies Sex, Other, Pokephilia, Referenced Various Pokemon Movies, Telepathic Legendary Pokemon, Until Pokemon XYZ Series, except not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 19:00:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 256,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12305628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvoFTG/pseuds/EvoFTG
Summary: About a year ago, Ash is posed with a question from a being not many people are even aware of existing. Though expected to give his answer, he is also given all the time in the world to think it through... except for the fact that thinking always takes a back seat when he can have hands-on approach.So he says 'yes'. To Arceus.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A warning in advance: This story involves human-Pokémon romance, which, in my humble opinion, is NOT bestiality if both parties are able to understand the relationship they are getting into and are able to give consent. For those who are still uncomfortable with the subject, the warning has been given and you may turn back; for those who are okay with it, I hope you enjoy the story.

Ash Ketchum feels as if he is going to collapse any moment now, feeling the urge to empty out the Pokéball he has been weighing restlessly in his hands. Oh, how he wishes he can call his trusted Pikachu from the Pokéball – at least he has someone to share his anxiety with – but Pikachu needs to have his rest uninterrupted. Ash still curses himself for the recklessness which ends up with his Pikachu getting hurt, having slipped from a ledge in trying to dodge a Pidgey from pecking him on the head. He has sent Pikachu to the nearest Pokémon Centre as soon as he could; Pikachu is thankfully fine aside from the gash on the hind leg, but now, Ash finds himself irrevocably alone when he needs a companion to ease his worry. The single butterfly in his belly seems to have multiplied itself, filling his inside with phantom, warm flutters of many wings. He is alone in the ruins of Michina’s Arceus shrine high at the mountaintop which towers over the peaceful little town. Somehow, the cold breeze fails to chase away the sweats wrung out from his skin, getting only worse as his nervousness doubles through every passing second. 

This is it. He has only one more question to ask, one more future answer to ponder over, before he gives the Legendary creature his reply. His answer tonight will change his life – for the better or worse, he is not sure which yet – but at least, it will be the end of a year’s worth of uncertainty which he has carefully contemplated in silence. So he continues to wait, watching the sky for the slightest sign of said Pokémon’s arrival while trying to control himself from panting with nervousness. 

Then, he sees it; the faintest distortion in the very air. Getting up to his feet, Ash stows the Pikachu-occupied ball back into his bag-pack and rushes towards the very end of the extended ledge. The disturbance soon grows into a rippling circle from which Arceus swiftly emerges in a burst of multi-coloured aura. His eyes follow the equine form as it glides silently through the air, heading straight towards where Ash is standing who is waving his hands in welcome. The tip of a golden hoof touches the tiled floor without a sound, followed by another, until Arceus fully lands beside the human. 

“Hello, Arceus.” The greeting sounds absurdly plain, undeserving of such a Legend if not for the fact that Arceus actually prefers its simplicity; it has been Ash’s responsive address of the Alpha Pokémon, also made in nervousness, during their first private meetings. 

_-And greetings to you too, Ash._

Arceus warmly replies, apparently unaware of the turmoil brewing within the human – or maybe it does, choosing to ignore it instead to avoid worsening his restlessness. He is grateful for it either way and finds himself smiling up at the great Pokémon as much of his agitation evaporates away. 

_-Sheena’s heart called to me, and I have come,_ Arceus says. Its straightforwardness hints of curiosity on the Legend’s part. 

Indeed, Ash has turned to the shrine’s guardian – whose long ancestry is gifted with the ability to connect their hearts with that of Pokémon – to contact Arceus after worrying himself for many, many months, arguing with himself whether it would be considered rudeness to request its presence. Throughout his acquaintances with Arceus, they gradually develop something that is quite like routine, though it is not predictable enough to be called schedule but not entirely random to be owed to mere chances. For instances, they usually default to this glade in a mini-forest back in Kanto whenever Arceus came to visit him, where they might spend anywhere between a few hours to a whole day and night in each other’s company; and that he is normally alerted to the Legend’s presence by an object, most often a brooch shaped in the likeness of Arceus’ flank-wheel, which would inexplicably appear where he may easily find them (right on his table seems like Arceus’ favoured location) and lasts only for so long as Arceus remains on Earth, whereupon its departure would prompt the object’s spontaneous disintegration. Thus it serves as an alarm of some sort, a notification that Arceus is waiting for him in the aforementioned glade should he decide to meet it in return, although he is repeatedly assured that whether he would come to it or not is entirely his to decide. So far, Ash has never failed to show up when he notices the object’s appearance despite not being bound to do so. 

Truth to be told, he is looking forward to the opportunities to meet the Legendary Pokémon, each time with more enthusiasm than the last. 

The downsides to this arrangement is that, unfortunately, Ash has no way of getting in touch with Arceus himself. Arceus has not yet able to come up with an effective and convenient solution, so most of the time Ash contents himself to be patient. Arceus’ visits are sporadic, but with every separation Arceus always makes the promise of returning; a promise that so far has not been broken, just as Ash will always make haste to meet it whenever he realizes the seemingly innocuous brooch which appears with Arceus’ presence. 

Not tonight, however. This time, he cannot depend on Arceus making its appearance at its own pace, and so has decided to take matters into his own hands. Now that it is happening, though, the normally bold Ash Ketchum finds himself fidgeting before the Legendary Pokémon. He forces himself to calm down and, in a sudden stroke of courage, says, “I’ve got something to ask you.” 

There is no verbal reply to this but Arceus’ stance shows its undivided attention to the Trainer. The lack of displeasure emboldens the human. “If I say ‘yes’… what then? What will happen to me?” 

That is the worry-inducing, million-dollar question that he has been dying to ask. What does it mean to be the mate of the most Legendary of all Pokémon? Arceus’ shocking proposal has since filled his mind, pondering, thinking what consequences there will be whether he agrees or otherwise. It is generous for the other to have given him ample time for it – and truthfully, an answer is not expected for many years to come – but Ash does not have the same capacity for patience as Arceus. 

_-That will be for you to decide._

Ash stares at the other incredulously; that is not the kind of reply he is expecting. However, before he can ask for further explanation, Arceus lowers its equine body to the floor, careful to accommodate the spikes of its golden wheel and settle itself rather deer-like beside Ash. It brings its head around towards the human Trainer until its forehead is mere inches from him, surveying him with a speculative air. 

_-Your life remains yours to decide, no matter what you will make of me in it. I have not a shadow of right to take that freedom from you… though you may expect my visits from time to time when my Hall of Origin becomes lonely for me, if you say yes._

Well, that does not seem unpleasant at all. He has been wondering himself sick whether he will be undergoing drastic changes in his lifestyles or something. Still… 

“So… theoretically, you know, if I agree… how should I return it? I mean, what can I do as your –” The word chokes briefly in his throat as if the power behind it is tangible enough to strangle him. With a cough, he tries again, “You know I’m just a human, Arceus. What can I possibly do as your… _mate?”_

Apparently, the inquiry amuses the Alpha Pokémon. Its mirth manifests in the slight glow emanating from its golden wheel and the tiny dilation of its red irises. 

_-You know of it already; simply provide me company… in all sense of that word._

The suggestiveness in its tone is enough to make the human blushes. Ten years ago he may be oblivious to Arceus’ implication but right now, it takes all of his willpower not to look away from the Legend’s gaze. He still cannot overcome his own shyness at the notion despite physical pleasure being one of the obvious subjects that comes to mind in a discussion about romantic bond between them, should Ash agree to it. 

_-Of course,_ it suddenly resumes while Ash is still battling with his embarrassment, _-the same holds true vice versa. It will be unfair for my mate to be left unaccompanied when he needs one._

Now that is definitely new. He will never dream of pestering the Original One with his daily undertakings… but the thought of Arceus’ presence cheers him a great deal especially that he naturally loves to socialize with Pokémon in general. They remain in a peaceful silence afterwards; Ash has asked all that needs asking and even though he has felt an inclination to a decision long before he climbs this mountain, it still unnerves him a little to voice it out. 

“Um… Arceus?” 

A gentle rumble comes from said Pokémon as a reply. He holds out a trembling hand and rests it upon the Legend’s neck. He finds his strength in the comforting warmth under his palms, prompting him to say, “I… I think I’ll accept.” 

A subtle tremor runs through Arceus’ body at the declaration. The golden shimmer surrounding it flickers uncertainly as if reflecting the surprise of its owner. It makes no disapproving sign though, and when the gold recedes back into its body, Ash feels the other subtly pushing back into his touch. 

_-That comes a little out of the blue._

“I know. I’m surprised myself, actually.” Awkwardness makes his voice quaver when he speaks and quickly shuts himself before he embarrasses himself further. He leans against the neck, threading a finger through the soft white fur, glad for the warmth its body gives out and the receptiveness of the contact. 

_-My mate…_

Arceus mumbles but it is less of a call than a subconscious monologue. Perhaps Arceus itself has been unconvinced that Ash will ever agree despite its persuasions, something which Ash finds interesting. The leaning becomes an embrace, his arms coming to wind around the neck as best as they can. A small sound comes from the other, as likely a sigh as the Pokémon can manage at the moment. 

_-You are certain, Ash? I have the patience to wait if you need more time._

“I’ve been thinking ever since you told me about this. I’m done with the thinking: _I’m accepting.”_ Ash rummages his brain for a point missed, finds it and takes another deep, steadying breath. “Is there something specific? Am I supposed to say something or…?” 

_-If you mean marriage vow, it is not a necessity. We are already bonded upon mutual agreement._

“… So, I’m really your m-mate now?” His gathers a bunch of fur in his palms; tugs it absent-mindedly, and the deep-chested humming the gesture produces course through his body. _Mate_ rises again and again to the forefront of his mind and steadfastly refuses to give way to other concerns not related to the Pokémon he is hugging. 

_-Yes,_ Ash’s newest title seems to have its own effect on the Creation Legend, whose eyes begin to gaze into the far distance lost beyond the horizon, _-There is still the consummation, of course, but…_

‘Consummation’? 

…As in, the sex? The fucking (Ash cringes internally; that sounds inappropriately harsh in Arceus’ presence and tells himself not to use it again where Arceus is concerned)? _Right now?_

“Arceus…?” 

Said Pokémon stirs, shrugging off the unexpected reverie and finding its way back to the Ketchum, whose neck it nudges gently. 

_-Ash, you do not know how extremely glad I am…_ A heavy sigh from above ruffles through his hair and across his skin, making him shiver with the warmth, _-…but I must advise caution on your part. Be careful of who you indulge in especially now that you have accepted my proposal._

Arceus sounds so grave that Ash is taken a little off-guard by the drastic change in its tone. He loosens himself from it and returns the Pokémon’s unrelenting stare. “Are you saying that –?” 

_-It is only a precaution – but an important one nonetheless. There are people with vile intention who will not hesitate to use you as a puppet should they know what you are to me. Remember Marcus who betrayed my dear Damos to destroy me._

“Arceus, you’re scaring me,” Ash cannot help from voicing it out. He is not by nature easily scared, and there have been many times in his life when he is forced to be brave, but having heard the plain warning would have made most people worried. He has had his fair share of adventures that would have killed him if not for his luck and a bit of skills to save him, and a cautioning from the Original One itself should never be taken lightly if one still values his life. 

_-You have your trusted friends that you can turn to,_ Arceus whispered, softening at the obvious fear the human is showing. _-They will protect you, as will I._

The reassurance stores some of his fled composure. Over the years, he does indeed cultivate a great number of friends of whom he depended upon, both humans and Pokémon alike. He appreciates their supports in times of crisis just as much as he enjoys their companies in more leisurely times. Arceus does not need to announce its promise so – but all the same, its willingness to protect is something massively comforting to hear. Any adversary of the Alpha Legend does not stand much fighting chance when it comes to head-on duelling. 

_-As for me, I will have to inform the Dragon Trio of our… development. This is too important to exclude them from knowing…_

The golden glow returns to encompass the Alpha Pokémon, this time its flickering is more characteristic of humorous expression than surprise and catching the interest of the Pokémon Trainer. 

“What?” 

_-Nothing. I was just thinking that with or without their knowing, you will be protected otherwise – considering that they have already gone to the extremes of defying me when I was still in rage…_

Ash remembers this, of course, as do his other time-travelling friends although the change in the timelines has rendered amnesia for the original history in all other Michina residents. Yet, Arceus still retains the memories of both alternate histories, even the bold/reckless defiance from Palkia, Dialga and Giratina during its Judgment rampage upon said town. The first two have arrived just before Ash and his friends can be obliterated by one of the Judgment’s starfalls; along with Giratina not much later, they continue to defend them until Arceus’s wrath is pacified by the truth. Arceus does not seem upset at the recollections, even looking strangely content, as it lays its head on the floor and enjoys the gentle petting on its side. It amazes the Trainer how different Arceus seems from the first timeline, whose fury has transformed it into an uncontrollable and vengeful beast, compared to this being who will gladly associate itself with humans and ordinary Pokémon. Granted, it has been a misunderstanding but it is still shocking to see the similar benevolence with which it treated Damos long ago, now extended to him. He runs his fingers through the white fur, made almost silvery from the moonlight, and is still astounded by its silkiness after all these time. Arceus’ contented rumble deepens with every pass until, quite suddenly, it gently nuzzles his shoulder in a rather different fashion than its usual touches. 

_-In a few hours, I will have to return to my dimension. Until then… will you entertain me, Ash?_

Its purr holds a strange tone which causes his body to shiver internally, though it is far from being unpleasant. Quite the contrary, in fact, as he finds himself returning Arceus’ stroking upon its gold-edged forehead. However, as his confusion dwindles under the Pokémon’s comforting nuzzling, Ash suddenly realizes what Arceus is actually hinting in its words. His stroking reflexively halts under the shock while he stares wide-eyed at the Alpha Pokémon, his brain laboriously processing the information. 

The extensive pause makes Arceus withdraws itself from the young Trainer. Ash is still too stunned to realize that his hand is no longer in contact with the Pokémon, who gently says, _-I will not take it to heart if you are unwilling, Ash. It is understandable._

Ash instantly snaps out of his daze; the quick progress is shocking, yes, but the genuine remorse in Arceus’ words is even more so. Perhaps it just seems natural for Arceus to offer some form of intimacy since Ash accepts being its mate, making his recoil all the more regrettable. So he scoots closer to the Alpha Pokémon and reaches for the neck; the muscles underneath his palm feels a lot tenser than what it is willing to let on. Nevertheless, Arceus meekly receives the touches and sighs appreciatively as the persuasive hands unwind the stress from its body. 

“Arceus, I…” 

_\- I will ask nothing that you are uncomfortable to –_

Subsequent words are instantly lost when Arceus finds itself hugged – or rather, having the Trainer clinging to its neck. There is just something in the Legend’s acceptance that makes denial uncomfortable… not to mention that Ash is getting interested himself of what the other has in mind. He has come too far to turn back just yet… 

So, taking a deep breath and suppressing his instinctive hesitance for the unknown, Ash says, “Okay.” 

_-…‘Okay’?_

“I think I want to try it. Being with you, I mean.” Damn it, even saying it is enough to make him sweat. Ash knows how things work between boys and girls but he never have hands-on experience, so to speak, making him desperately wish that he has paid attention to some of Brock’s ‘advices’. His twelve-plus years of Pokémon Training experiences matters nothing when he is going to be moved on by ( _frickin’!_ ) Arceus, of all people. 

_-There is no need to rush things, Ash._

True, but Ash has been forever tackling his problems headlong and this fear seems to him like another unknown that he needs to conquer. Its source may have been different but the fear is still the same – the unknown makes him hesitate, however briefly, be it him walking a shortcut to the next city he has never tried before or trying to convince himself that he is really going to get serious with a Legendary Pokémon. His own interest just solidifies the decision and he tightens his hug, making known to Arceus that he is perfectly willing with it. 

“Come on, Arceus. You’re not gonna say 'no' now, are you?” 

_-I am if you are not prepared for it. There is time enough to wait._

“Arceus, now you’re just being a tease.” Though he does not feel very confident himself, Ash manages to grin at the surprised look from the Legend. Its head drops to his level, its forehead touching the top of Ash’s head. He belatedly notices that the red irises are contracting and focusing upon him in contemplation 

_\- …Are you_ truly _certain?_

Ash does not need thinking anymore. However, nodding does not quite satisfy the Alpha Pokémon of his perfect willingness, no matter how vigorously he is moving his head. It carefully nuzzles him in search of whatever doubt the human may still have with its metal-forehead. Only when Ash does not flinch from its touch does Arceus withdraws from its inspection. 

_-Very well. Follow me._

Arceus draws on its inner power and levitates itself, its long legs unfolding from underneath. Ash rarely sees it physically walk, preferring to float around, which surprises him a little to see the Pokémon letting its levitation ceases and bringing its golden hooves down to the floor. Its steps make little sound, if at all, and Ash is forced to jog to keep up with every long stride. He is led along a short way through a massive corridor, only dimly illuminated by moonlight from above, until they reach the end of it where a stone structure nearly as massive as Arceus itself looms before them. Ash knows what it is, having been told by Sheena before; it is the remains of Arceus’ throne, built long ago by Damos to welcome Arceus whenever the Legend chose to visit Michina. Years of disuse and neglect have reduced its majesty in Damos’ time – it has since lost much of its jewels and delicate carving, its shine of polished stone now dulled. It barely retains its original shape with cracks zigzagging across its surface at some part and having its stone crumbled at another. 

Arceus settles itself before the mangled throne, the front legs bending down before the rest of it follows. It beckons Ash to come forward, pointing with a jerk of its head towards a patch of wild-growing grass at the sloping base of the throne. He does as told and instantly recognizes the reasoning behind Arceus’ choice as the soft grasses make sitting that much more comfortable than if he is to sit on bare ground. 

_-I would have preferred my own Hall of Origin for you,_ Arceus says and sneaks itself under Ash’s hand, _-but a human’s body is not meant to transcend spaces. It will be most… unsettling without Palkia’s or Giratina’s help. You will be under a lot of pressure as it is for what we are about to do._

“It’s fine here,” Ash replies. Indeed, the place is secluded from outside chill and the grassy patch cushions his weight comfortably enough. However, it is still intriguing to hear the mention of spatial travel. “But, I’ve been to Giratina’s Distortion World and –” 

_-The Distortion World is closer to yours than mine and, unnatural as it seems though, it supports your world from collapsing. The closeness does not allow for much dimensional fluxes to be of substantial effect to you, unlike the worlds further from here._

Arceus consistently refuses to entail what kind of danger there is, reasons enough to unsettle the human; he has not the slightest inkling of danger if he has ended up in domains other than Giratina’s. His brooding is swiftly interrupted upon feeling the Pokémon’s head rubbing against his shoulder, coaxing him to return with gentle petting on the forehead. 

_-Speak your mind if you are uncomfortable._

The words open up their intimacy as Arceus begins moving its head around the Trainer’s body, getting a general feeling of Ash’s physiques. Ash brings his arms to wrap around the head as best as he can. The fine white fur tickles wherever his skin is exposed, though his giggles are quickly lost in the gasps elicited by the Pokémon’s exploration of his body. It was particularly frustrating that he has no idea how to reciprocate the treatments; their size difference becomes pronounced in the close proximity and even if the problem is eliminated, where exactly he has to touch to cause pleasure? 

Arceus continues to nuzzle against him when his hand happens to reach further back to find a point to hold on to; the fingers accidentally tug on the furred protrusion of its ear. Arceus unexpectedly moans at the simple touch, its widening irises telling of its own surprise; Ash is even more astonished to see one of the horizontal lines running upon its face splitting open, for the first time revealing its physical mouth to the Trainer. 

“Whoa…” Ash openly gawks at the Pokémon’s face, his eyes drawn to the opened maw. For as long as he remembers, Arceus has always spoken telepathically that the human has become used to it by now; the moan is definitely not, its voice taking a certain solidity that seems to ring in his ears. However, its timbre still retains the gender dualities that are present in Arceus’ telepathic speech. 

_-That is – that is very pleasurable…_

The jaws hang slack while Arceus speaks those words mentally. Ash does not need the comment or the persuasive nuzzling to return to his stroking, running his fingertips along the pointy lengths. Both ears quiver at the touches and its beautiful moans are back with them. Ash listens to the liberated voice and notices a curious tone akin to Palkia’s roars within it, only much softer; perhaps unsurprising, considering the myths… 

It is amazing to see the Legend rendered so needy to pleasure, more so that it comes from his own little hands. Arceus seems particularly fond of having the very tips of its ears fondled; the equine body becomes wracked with delightful little shivers when Ash uses his fingers to gently tweak them. The moans become ever louder each time until its voice breaks into a peculiar growl not unlike Dialga’s, at which point Arceus quickly withdraws. Arceus is positively panting; wisps of its breath escape the opened mouth. Under the moonlight, its white fur gleams with a sheen of sweat as it shifts itself closer to the Trainer. 

_-Ash, let me see you…_

Ash is still nervous even though knowing that this part is forthcoming the very moment he agrees to proceed. To deny would have seemed like an extraordinary rudeness after its willingness to yield to human-given pleasure. Arceus’ dimly glowing eyes plead for it, unabashed and eager, signifying a longing deeper than Ash has ever seen in any living being he has met so far. Who in the world – aside from its old friend Damos, perhaps – has noticed the loneliness hiding behind the impregnable fortress that is its reputation? 

The thought is profoundly shocking – and the implication that he, Ash Ketchum, is the one it sought for is like a shot of adrenaline into his systems. 

It is impossible to not submit to the request despite Ash’s lingering reservation. Ash is about to start on slipping his vest off when a sudden metallic clink from down below freezes him. He watches in horror as the clasp of his belt, which faintly glows with purplish aura, comes undone even though his hands are nowhere near it. Shocking enough as it is, Ash finally lost it as the belt slips off the waist of his pants like a living Ekans. Arceus is quick to notice the human’s distress and retracts its power immediately. Silence reigns between them while his intended shout dissipates into little gasps residual of his panic. Arceus refrains from touching until Ash himself initiates contact with his fingers in search of living warmth to steady his wildly hammering heart. 

“I-I’m fine. I was just… Never mind, I’m alright.” He does not sound wholly convincing with the stammering. When it comes to being with your lover, Ash is instinctively expecting something a little more down-to-Earth. Psychic powers are not uncommon in his life as a Pokémon Trainer but this… his human self has expected something more physical when it comes to being unclothed. The remote undressing, being bereft of his partner’s solid touch, is just straight-out unnatural. 

_-Ash…_

The uncertainty is peculiarly painful to hear. Arceus’ tentative nosing speaks of desire to understand and to soothe… which just make it worse to the Trainer. He cannot blame the Pokémon for not knowing; its telekinetic power is as much part of itself as the Plates it bears. So far, Arceus itself has gone to unbelievable lengths to accommodate his limitations. It is Ash’s fault for not being prepared – not adapting himself to Arceus’ means of physical handling – when it is the least he can do for his part. 

“I’m fine,” Ash repeats, more strongly this time. He cannot bear to see and feel the Legend lingering in unease for his stupid mistake. 

_-…You prefer a more bodily approach,_ Arceus whispers; a conclusion that comes out more questioning rather than a statement. The eyes brighten hopefully as Arceus brings itself to face the human and says, _-Will you be fine with kissing? I wish for it..._

Arceus successfully earns itself a disbelieving stare from its young companion with the request. Sure, Ash has kissed and be kissed himself before – one may have even come from another Legendary Pokémon – but from Arceus, it is on a wholly different level. He feels no repulsion though, and when he places a hand on its cheek, Ash welcomes the rippling sensations in the pit of his stomach. Arceus follows the pulling gesture felt on its face and bends down, carefully nearing itself to a reachable distance. Its closed mouth is indistinguishable from the other decorative lines on its countenance so Ash, guided by his memories, places his mouth on the sloping curve instead. 

Arceus gives a low, helpless grunt and pushes back uncertainly. Arceus is already being careful with its strength but even then, Ash is knocked nearly out of balance though his quick grasp to the lower jaw saves him from tumbling. Ash returns to the interrupted kiss despite the concerned rumble from his larger partner until it relents to his insistence. The feel of parting surface under his lips makes him pull back, just in time to see Arceus’ mouth opening and catching a glimpse of a pair of fangs behind the lipless maw. Arceus means no harm, of course; regardless, an instinctive fear kicks in at the sight of it which looks sharp enough to puncture flesh easily. However, his alarm is quickly overwhelmed by the astonishment in seeing the tip of a pale red tongue slipping out to briefly swipe him on the lips. 

Ash is unsure how to react the first time it happens while Arceus immediately backs down to judge his response. It feels weird, yes, but it is not at all like having a Furfrou or a Herdier licking at him; the affection it pours into the gesture is as much a kiss as Arceus can manage with its physiques. Ash is only half-conscious of the silly smile he is making – an encouragement enough for Arceus to give him a second licking, this time on his cheek. Arceus is definitely enjoying it; it finds more and more skin to touch until Ash’s body succumbs to the gentle slides of the tongue. The vest is quickly taken off as soon as Arceus ventures to the base of his neck, his hands working subconsciously to strip himself of his sweat-drenched shirt. 

“Ar…ceus…” He gasped faintly as the Pokémon eagerly lavishes its attention to the bared torso. A soft rumbling answers him but never once does it pause. It is an urge that Ash himself can connect with as he desires to feel more and more of his companion before him, not wanting it to stop for even a second. Even his loose-fitting pants feel constrictive especially when the exciting heat circulating in his veins begin to concentrate in his nether region. 

_-Ash,_ Arceus rumbles in-between the eager licks; Ash finds his breath as desperately as a drowning man manages to finally swim up to the surface. It takes him a few moments to find himself back to the present, and that Arceus has its eyes fixed upon him intently. 

_-I feel your body is straining to endure it, Ash. I cannot risk you hurting._

“No, please… I can –” 

_-Do not fret. There are other times for more…_ Arceus’ tongue on his lips silence his protest, but it ends all too abruptly before he can plunge back into the drowning pleasure. _-For now, let me see you, Ash. All of you._

Arceus no longer sounds as collected as it normally does; its lustful quavers punctuate its speech, echoing with the same desire as those brewing in the Trainer. The request invokes in Ash the reflexive embarrassment at the thought of nudity, especially before someone like Arceus, but there is no way is he going to refuse it even if he wants to, not when they are already halfway through to the culmination. Words fail him in the haze of pleasure but his fumbling with his already beltless pants is enough of an answer for Arceus, who swoops in to help with the undressing. Its teeth clamp on the very edge of the leg of his pants and tug it down, inch by inch, until it comes off him completely and tossed unceremoniously to the side. His boxer shorts are the next to go, joining the rest of his clothing. 

Now that he is completely undressed, his embarrassment only grows under Arceus’ curious stare. His hands clench and unclench restlessly at his sides while he struggles with the urge to cover himself. Arceus may not have the same notion of appreciable traits in humans but it still intrigues him what the Original One finds worthy of attention on him; he is just an average-looking young man from an average town, growing up with his companion Pokémon like hundreds of thousands other teenagers in the world. 

“Hey, um…” Ash does not really know how to begin. Arceus has comforted him on many occasions that there are ways to bridge their difference but between a human male and an ambiguously-gendered Pokémon, he cannot see how things will work out for them. “…Arceus, I don’t know how to –” 

_-This night is yours, dearest Ash. Leave it to me._

Arceus gently pushes him back by his chest until his back lies against the vine-covered wall behind him. Ash cannot muster any objection to it; the Pokémon insists upon his idleness, to simply lay there and feel the pleasure… which is really all he can do as Arceus trails its tongue on his torso. He moans steadily louder while Arceus works its way downwards, tracing the faint impressions of muscles as it goes until it pauses just above his navel. It pulls back a scant inch to take a look at the naked prize between his legs. Lust and embarrassment collide under Arceus’ watching eyes, but neither can take hold on his mind when Arceus’ jaws gape open above his crotch. 

For a split second, the memories of his brief glimpse of fangs have the Trainer expecting for the worst, yet the pain never comes. What Ash is feeling instead is warmth and wetness, incredible pleasure with which he has no experience before and no idea how to react to but to moan and cry with every wave of motion… 

Ash remembers very little details of what happens afterwards; remembering only his shouts which he cries out to the sky – 

Fleeting sensations with lasting pleasure, and there is so much of it and so intense until he has no idea of his present, his world narrowing down to himself and the Pokémon before him – 

His nails ache but the discomfort is a distant thing; his hands continue to scrabble into the dirt, trying desperately to find a handhold to the reality – 

Impressions of great pain-pleasure that is heat and heaviness, growing in his lower body and seeking for means to relieve itself – 

His own desperate cries for the Alpha Legend, broken and strained, pleading and afraid and _wanting –_

Arceus looks back into his barely-opened eyes; its mouth obscured by his thrashing legs but the voice comes forth unimpeded, pride and passion lacing through the words, _-Just let go, Ash. Do not hold yourself back._

And then, complete, total, all-encompassing whiteness, and Ash remembers nothing more of the night. 

  


*****

  


Only after his body stops shaking does Arceus very gently slide itself away from the limp Trainer, a contented sigh escaping through its jaws despite the drenched state it finds itself in at the moment. Seeing the human slumped lifelessly against the stone wall behind him, eyes closed and limbs slack at his sides, little pinpricks of fear blossom in Arceus’ chest until it senses the presence of living Aura about him if a little sluggish and that his flesh does not bear fresh marks of wounds or bruises. 

_Ah,_ Arceus heaves a relieved breath, though in place of it a new guilt starts to coil tightly in its chest. _I have misjudged the potency of it…_

Arceus reels in its excited Aura back to itself, taking with it a minute sliver of Ash’s brilliantly deep-blue essence and imparts in the Trainer a tiny piece of its own gold Aura. Not much of a bond admittedly but better than nothing until both of them are comfortable to take it to its ultimate conclusion without damaging its mate. Until then, Arceus has the sleeping, covered-in-sweat human to care for before his nakedness brings about a more human illness it can have easily prevented, what with the night chill hanging in the air around them. A fraction of its innate power is unleashed to encapsulate the Trainer in a fragile-looking sphere and carries him down to the floor, where he is deposited beside the Alpha Pokémon. Ash is manoeuvred to tuck himself closer against the warm body with little nudges, in the crook of its body just in front of its hind limbs. Here, Ash will be hard-pressed to feel all but the strongest gust with Arceus keeping itself close to him unless an enraged Articuno happens to be randomly around to whip up a polar-cold wind stream. 

_-Sweet dreams, my dear Ash,_ Arceus hums into his ears, gently brushing back the frays of hair sticking to his forehead. 

It brings its tail forward to curl around the human, just to make sure that Ash stays as comfortable and as warm as possible. The gentle snores are somehow more soothing than any music that Arceus has ever heard whilst it entertains itself with little strokes to the messy-haired head. The thought of returning to the Hall of Origin, for all the light and warmth it is blessed with, becomes greyer the longer it stares at the sleeping human; a twistedly funny thought for Arceus has strived to keep its company to itself all these while only to find that the wall has long been breached behind its back. 

Arceus dims its eyes whereupon memories take over in the absence of worldly sight. In its mind’s eye, far above a half-wrecked Machina it hovered while a host of Judgment-strike trails were frozen into a cage of light around it – to the Legend only a breath away from utter destruction if not for one simple human. 

_Who… are you?_ It hears its own voice asked, simultaneously demanding, curious and confused as memories at once alien and familiar, ancient and recent, came flooding into its mind, and from the myriad inflow of sounds and images, one voice stood out: 

_“Uh, I-I’m Ash,”_ said the boy in its mind, younger-looking than the one who now sleeps beside it and with a speck of Arceus’ essence in his soul, _“and this is my partner, Pikachu.”_

Its eyes brighten back to the current time and place and to the sight of the human who had once dared to challenge its wrath – and lives to steal its heart. 

_-… Funny how that turns out eventually,_ Arceus murmurs into the unresponsive silence around it. How ironic that its near-demise instigated upon it by a human would eventually bring its path to cross with its young would-be human mate… 

A sound almost imperceptible to normal hearing makes Arceus looks up. The flutters of wings that meet its gaze are mesmerizing against the star-spangled sky visible through a crack in the shrine’s roof. A rainbow of colours come flitting through the fault, trailed by golden sparkles whose brilliance seems intends to outshine the glow of the moon and the stars. When it finally settles down on a broken arch not far from the Alpha Legend, the glow steadies itself to reveal a heavenly beautiful bird-Legend with wings which reflects the moonlight into magnificent prismatic hues. 

_-I do not expect to see you here, Ho-Oh._

Arceus remarks the rainbow bird. Its red eyes are entirely focused on Ho-Oh, curious – and slightly annoyed, though Arceus maintains an image of indifference – of its unanticipated coming. However, its displeasure is still conceivable to the emphatic Magical Creature; Arceus’ Aura is too powerful to be concealed from Ho-Oh even if its outward appearance hints of nothing in particular. 

_-Pardon me, Arceus,_ it says in a strangely lilting voice, suffusing words with Psychic energy to soothe the Original One. _-I have sensed an unexpected vibration of energy coming from this mountain. I have come to see what is happening… it hasn’t occurred to me that the energy is emanating from you._

The Psychic influence, subtle though it is, does not go unnoticed; nevertheless, Arceus allows the power to calm its irritation after realizing that Ho-Oh does not come voluntarily with the intention to disturb. In a much gentler tone, Arceus replies, _-I did not plan on leaving my hall either, but my presence is requested here._

A sudden breeze steals into the ruins, not cold enough to merit any worry but Arceus reflexively draws its tail to curl tighter around the human who is still blissfully sleeping. The slight movement draws the bird’s sight towards it; Ash Ketchum is just slightly visible behind the confines of Arceus’ tail but Ho-Oh nevertheless sees the Trainer. The golden crest of feathers on its head bristles slightly with curiousity, making no concealment of its observation. 

_-…and you’ve answered the boy’s summon, Arceus?_

_-There is no reason not to._

Arceus gives its answer confidently. Ho-Oh is silent for a few seconds, the feather-crest rising and falling in contemplation as its gaze continues to linger upon the human. Ho-Oh rustles its wings a few times and whispers in wonder, _-So, you have really Chosen…?_

_-I have._

The sternness in Arceus’ voice is undeniable; its head is held high and proud, signifying confidence and, more subtly, of challenge should Ho-Oh decide to criticize the unconventional choice. However, the rainbow bird has the least notion of it upon realizing what must have transpired between the two. 

_-I shouldn’t have been surprised that of all Magical Creatures and people… you settle for Ash Ketchum._

That the Trainer’s name coming from Ho-Oh is only perplexing for a few seconds before Arceus’ memory brings out to it the explanation. Ash has recounted to the Alpha Legend of his journeys before, including the scarce but exquisite glimpses of a Legendary bird with feathers the colours of the rainbow in the sky, the sights of which always renewed his weakened spirit. 

_-Ash has mentioned you to me. You saved his life on his very first day as a Trainer._

_-His soul will be a waste to let go. There are not many so pure of heart nowadays…_ It rustles it wings together, sending up brief sparks like the leaping of ambers in a merrily crackling flame. _-Though I admit, I would not have expected that it will be enough to fulfil even you, Arceus._

Arceus pauses at the last statement, parsing through the other’s tone but finding only wonder rather than the initially-suspected riposte. Perhaps Ho-Oh’s disbelief merits justification because few enough humans nowadays attract Legendary Creatures – and even less of Arceus’ kind is disposed to association with others and so the Alpha is willing to let the matters pass. Furthermore, as long as it does not detrimentally affect Ash, Arceus is not bound to give explanation on its choice. 

It is clear that there is nothing of serious concern which needs handling here in the shrine by now. Ho-Oh lifts its head to the heaven as if listening to a voice that Arceus cannot hear and spreads its wings wide, casting off the moonlight into colourful display upon the shrine's floor. Ho-Oh's life belongs to the sky just as the wide ocean is Lugia's home and the heaven begins to call longingly for its presence. It is ready to leave now but one last look at the still-sleeping human invokes in Ho-Oh to say to the Original One, _-Keep him safe and well, Arceus. You do not meet a human the likes of him every age. I sense that his heart will prove precious to you one day._

So saying, Ho-Oh cast itself into the air with a little hop; the multi-coloured wings take it higher and higher, soaring through the gap in the roof from whence it came and leaving behind a stream of many-coloured lights which sparkles dazzlingly. Ho-Oh itself disappears into the night sky, its rainbow trail disappearing into the lazily drifting clouds high above; the sound of its wing flaps is soon drowned in the gentle breeze that blows over the mountain, once again leaving the silence for Arceus alone to enjoy. 

Arceus gives the human a little nudge; Ash does not wake up, only shifting slightly in his sleep so that he faces the direction where he has been nuzzled. His snores continue uninterrupted to mingle with Arceus’ own breaths. The words from Ho-Oh echo in Arceus’ mind while it looks on affectionately at its newly-acquired mate. Arceus will mourn for the time when it will have to return to its home dimension but for now, the Creation Legend is feeling perfectly content as it lays its head beside the human and whispers softly: 

_-You are already precious to me, Ash._


	2. Just Another Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brand new day starts, and Ash reminisces of his decision. It doesn't feel like a day too different from any other... For now.

Ash Ketchum wakes up to the warm sunlight streaming in through the curtained windows nearby, feeling its comforting warmth caresses his cheeks. His eyes open slowly, reluctant to leave the dream world behind although the moment he takes in his surroundings, he jolts straight up from his bed; the beautifully-painted green room is unfamiliar to him, nor does the delicate decorations of statues and sculptures are his defining characteristics. In fact, the only thing Ash can recognize with utter certainty is his bag-pack which lies crumpled on the study desk beside his bed. Quickly, the Ketchum reaches for it and rummages the inside, instantly heaving out a relieved sigh when his hand closes over the smooth surface of a Pokéball. 

“Come on out, Pikachu,” he says and sets the white-and-red ball upon the floor, whereupon it begins to unleash a tendril of red light; his Pikachu materializes out from the bright glow, his face radiant as the Electric rodent looks up to him and hops into his lap. Ash chuckles to feel the furry body snuggles into his chest as he pets the Pokémon’s head affectionately. 

_“Pika-pikachu, pika-pi!_ ” 

“Yeah, it’s good to see you too, buddy,” Ash continues to laugh when Pikachu hops on to his shoulder and nuzzles his cheek instead. “I guess you’re alright now, huh?” 

_“Pika-pika!”_

The Pokémon’s limited vocabulary, while may be frustrating to others, serves well enough for Ash Ketchum who has spent his entire Trainer life with this little Electric-typed rodent. It certainly helps that Pikachu is a very expressive Pokémon to begin with; the vigorous nodding and the wiggling of his previously wounded leg cement the confirmation of his well-being. 

_“…Pika?”_ Pikachu purrs questioningly, pushing his face closer to Ash’s; his nose wriggles curiously at the vaguely familiar scent that covers the Trainer from top to toe. The behaviours baffle Ash since he has gone without baths before and Pikachu never seems disturbed – or in this case, interested in it. A little whiff at himself does not yield any funny smell but that is only his nose while Pikachu has much greater sense of smell. Still, it is not like – 

“…Oh, _right…”_

Memories come flooding into his mind as if a locked door in his brain has been pushed wide open; the exhaustive climb all the way up to Arceus’ shrine, the long waiting, the arrival of the shrine’s namesake… and of course, the ‘stuffs’ that happen between them afterwards, all of them clicking neatly into place. Ash cannot regret a second of it but what he and Arceus have accomplished last night seems like boldness with a touch of insanity, now that he thinks of it in the light of the day. Nevertheless, a hot blush slowly creeps up to his face and colours his cheeks nearly as red as the spots on Pikachu’s face at the recollections. 

A knock on the door breaks his reverie and his blush recedes just in time as a man walks into the room; lean and tall, the blond is recognizable to Ash Ketchum as Kevin, the co-guardian of Arceus’ shrine. Seeing that Ash is already sitting up on his bed with his Pikachu perched on his shoulder, Kevin smiles at him. 

“Good morning, Ash. Have a good night’s sleep?” 

“Yeah, thanks,” Ash reflexively answers, recalling what has happened after Arceus has successfully goaded him to sleep together. It was a few hours perhaps when the Alpha Pokémon finally woke him up with an announcement for its departure. Arceus has set him down at the base of the mountain before taking leave itself, opening up the portal to its dimension while Ash shuffled along sleepily back to Kevin’s little cottage not far from Michina Lake, where he has been invited to stay for the duration of his visit. 

“Sheena’s already preparing breakfast. Get dressed and come join us,” Kevin said and closed the door, leaving Ash in privacy to ready himself. 

Pikachu, understanding perfectly the conversation between the Trainer and his host, hops down to settle upon the bed while Ash rummages his bag-pack for a towel and extra clothing; after last night, Ash cannot have recycled back his tee and pants – especially his pants – for another day. 

Damn it, even the simple thought is enough to invite new warmth to his face. He shakes his head to clear the wayward thoughts and leaves hurriedly for the bathroom outside. Despite the relatively cool morning, a cold shower for himself is definitely in order if he does not want to spend his day with a blush appearing every now and then. 

When Ash Ketchum comes to the kitchen with Pikachu on his shoulder, he finds that the table is indeed loaded with meals; freshly-baked breads and fruits, as well as fruit jams and a bottle of honey are all arranged neatly upon it. Sheena herself is completing the preparation with a pot of steaming hot tea and arranging the set for three people at the table. Kevin appears from the back, wearing a cotton shirt instead of his formal shrine guardian’s attire. He joins the two at the table eagerly and Pikachu, hungry himself, climbs down to a spot on the floor where a bowl is already filled to the brim with Pokémon food. 

Ash is helping himself to a honey-lathered toast when Sheena says, “So, how was it last night?” causing the Trainer to nearly choke on his meals. 

“Uh… last night?” Ash feels his face threatening to show his embarrassment even with the lingering hotness from the tea he has just downed still burns in his throat. Surely Sheena and Kevin did not know…? 

“Yes. Did Arceus come at all? I have contacted it as you asked, and I’ve felt the answer… but I wasn’t entirely sure.” 

Ash is gratefully, extremely relieved in realizing that her inquiry is thoroughly innocent, if worded a little poorly – now he is worrying about Arceus’ satisfaction in the whole experience, where it seems that he has the lion’s share while his Legendary partner did all the works. Unfortunately, he was exhausted himself afterwards to be of any help, and when he tried to broach the subject again upon his awakening the Alpha has reassured him that it was well-pleased as it was. Apparently, it is a matter of being in the right time, or making the right preparation… 

Anyway, it is inevitable to let Sheena knows of his meeting when the female guardian is the only one he can think of capable in inter-dimensional communication. Neither she nor Kevin knows why though, and Ash Ketchum prefers to keep that bit of information a secret for the most part. 

“Oh… Oh yeah, it did. A little bit late, but I didn’t mind.” It was exactly midnight when Arceus showed up, Ash remembers seeing the time on his watch. Seriously though, that the Creation Pokémon would deign to answer a summoning is amazing enough that Ash would not have minded waiting until morning if he has to. 

“Thank goodness. Contacting Palkia and Dialga both at once will be easier with how big Arceus’ realm is. It’s a stroke of luck that Arceus happened to be closer to Earthly plane than its home when I tried to search for it,” she says, apparently oblivious to the slight guilt creeping into the Trainer to hear her difficulties. 

“Anyway, that you’re here in Michina, will you be staying for a few more days?” Kevin suddenly asks, providing Ash the needed means to distract himself. 

“I haven’t thought about that actually…” Ash glances down at his Pikachu who has stopped nibbling on his food. The beetle-black eyes looking back at him are pleading for a ‘yes’, which is already influencing his decision majorly. “Maybe I’ll stay though.” 

“Great! It’ll be worth it to wait around a bit, and then you can join us for the Harvest Festival.” 

“… The Harvest Festival? What’s that?” 

“It’s a traditional celebration here in Michina to celebrate successful harvests each year. We are farm-based communities, after all; it’s becoming something like a party now for us.” 

“Oh, I see,” Ash replies, the pieces clicking together easily. There are other trades, of course, but Michina really is a town with farming at its core with miles upon endless miles of cornfield and wheat. Surrounded by vast rolling fields and towering mountains, one can easily lose himself in the peacefulness here which is seemingly untouched by the hustles and bustles of big cities. 

“Of course,” Sheena gently adds, putting down her fork and spoon, “The Harvest Festival also commemorates Arceus’ descent to save the town from the comet hundreds of years ago. Damos has written in his journals that he did so to remind the people of the folly to betray the Pokémon, who has done much to ensure Michina’s survival and fertility.” 

It amuses Ash to be reminded how, in the original history, the people of Michina has been dreading the mere mention of Arceus, having initially vowed to Judgment all of them out of existence. With its wrath out of the way in this new timeline, the Alpha Pokémon is no longer held in their views with terror but rather adoration, just as Damos is now hailed a hero instead of a traitor that condemned the town to destruction. 

In any case, Ash is in no hurry to go anywhere. He is a traveller at heart and a change in scenery from his Kanto hometown is very much welcomed, part of the reason why he chooses to travel all the way to Michina himself when there are other means to reach Sheena and Kevin here. 

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” Ash grins and tucks back in into his unfinished breakfast. 

  


*****

  


The time-space continuum is chaotic here, even more unordered than it is in Giratina’s Reverse World. It is a hostile place that may render weak minds insane and the bodies to disperse into secrete particles, never to reform again. And yet, among the swirling darkness that fills the spaces between dimensions, a single figure hovers silently, surrounded by a vibrant aura of gold that effortlessly wards off the hungry black tendrils from trapping it like a flycatcher will its insect preys. 

Arceus shines alone in this vast blackness, giving off light in a world where little else can glow. Its unbridled senses survey the fabric of space-time with critical attention, watching with more than just physical eyes the strained intradimensional barrier that separates the different worlds into discrete bubbles. Its thoughts are still largely focused on the abnormal tension when the Original One senses a familiar, much more controlled distortion in the space-time aspect around it. Seemingly out from nothing, a hole gapes open into existence in a flash of pinkish light not far from where it is hovering. A bipedal figure, wrapped in the same-coloured aura as that of the portal, emerges from it which constricts itself to close just as said figure clears the opening. 

_-Arceus,_ the Legendary Palkia respectfully addresses once it sees the gold-glowing figure beside it, _-Did you call for me?_

_-I did. But we are still short of the –_

Another controlled distortion pricks its senses before Arceus finishes its sentence. Nimbly sidestepping the disturbance like one would have a physical boulder, the Alpha Legend does not flinch even as the spot where it exactly is only a few seconds ago yawns open in a flash of blue light. Dialga the Timekeeper glides out from it serenely, stretching itself almost feline-like as it takes its place on the other side of Arceus which is occupied by its spatial counterpart. 

_-Late, as usual._

_-I’ll have you know, for the countless of times, that jumping between different time flows is not as easy as it looks,_ Dialga retorts to Palkia’s accusation though its tone lacks any real bite which signifies true aggression; instead, Dialga sounds more annoyed rather than angry. Palkia, on the other hand, is visibly amused at the Temporal Guardian’s annoyance. 

Arceus is much too used to the harmless bantering (as long as it does not involve their home dimensions) to interrupt the two space-time guardians. Eons of experiences tell that the exchanges will die down just as soon as it starts – case in point, as Dialga gives out a dismissive snort and immediately refocuses itself to the Trio Master. Its gaze follows Arceus’ apparent line of sight where the Timekeeper eventually notices the malignant change in the space-time fabric. 

_-It is Giratina who first sensed it from the Reverse World. We have to mend it._

Indeed, the damage is almost imperceptible unless one is specifically looking for it among this confusing mass of swirling darkness. The dimensional flux has disguised much of the wayward energy filtering out from the distortion of which only Giratina’s exceptional sensitivity is capable of picking up even in cursory observation. Having devoted its life to the stability of both dimensions, Giratina’s senses have tuned themselves perfectly to maintain the harmonious balance between the two and as easy to antagonize the moment it perceives possible threats. Arceus focuses on its inner power to invoke the inherent connections between itself and the Dragon Trio; the Alpha Legend follows the course to Giratina and gently taps the consciousness at the far end of the line, conveying a mental inquiry in the metaphysical contact. 

_-All is well here, Arceus,_ comes the quick reply. Arceus draws itself from the other’s mind with a sense of relief; at least, the distortion does not prove to have any impact yet on the Reverse World and the dimension it is supporting. 

_-Arceus!_

There is just enough time for the Creation Master to perceive the incoming assault when Palkia shouts the alert; what seems to be an intangible silver tendril bursts through the tear in reality where it is only a dimensional distortion a few moments ago. The sharp, glowing tip narrowly misses Arceus, having flinched away at the very last second. An instinctive preservation charges power through its muscles, eventually manifesting into a partial Extreme Speed attack as Arceus lashes out with its spear-like front limbs. The golden hooves meet the silver tendril as it comes about for a second attack, driving Arceus back by the immense momentum while the tendril bursts into many white-hot flakes. 

It may have been the first of many more similar assaults. Even now, the three Legends espy the disturbing flow of silver on the other side of the damage, aggravating it from stitching itself like a wound kept open by debris and dirt. Both Palkia and Dialga instantly call upon their natural masteries over time and space, pouring their combined strengths into the very plane of reality to prevent it from tearing itself further. As they did so, Arceus begins to reactivate one of the Type Plates within it, letting the power to flow around in its body. In a flash of white, all of the golden portions on its body become a darkly coloured turquoise, even the originally gold wheel that wraps around the flank; the green gems studded in its spoke are now a violent shade of purple. The same colour too replaces the green surrounding its eyes, somehow giving the red gaze an even more vicious appearance. 

Another silver tendril slips past the dimensional gap and strikes right at Arceus… and dissolves into nothingness the moment it nears the Original One as if deflected by an invisible shield. Completely unaffected this time, Arceus draws in on its power until the flank-wheel flares intensely in the darkness of their environment. An energy orb begins to form above the forehead, glowing with a pale shade of turquoise; a herald of Arceus’ signature Judgment. It is sent hurling towards the weakened reality, incinerating and penetrating right through the silvery masses which are latched around the edges of the dimensional damage. Though the Judgment will be fully executed upon breaking through to the other side – flaring open like a gigantic mushroom and flinging hundreds of comets to destroy any of those silver tendrils nearby – the Legends do not bear witness to the event Beyond. A modified Roar of Time and Spacial Rend from Dialga and Palkia converge where the time-space fabric has been torn open; their unique attacks, normally destructive, interact positively in the presence of the rift, unifying into a single force that swirls brightly around it. The tear narrows down under the encouraging auras from the two Legends until the space-time fabric is thoroughly healed, leaving no trace whatsoever of the previous damage. 

As the pearls on Palkia’s shoulders, as well as the gem on Dialga’s chest dim back to idleness, Arceus too reverts back to its Normal type when the three Legends withdraws their respective powers. Arceus’ silence is normally as sign of dismissal which is why, when Dialga and Palkia are preparing to open their respective portals back to their home dimensions, it comes as a surprise to them that the Original One summons them back. 

_-Wait, Dialga, Palkia._

_-Arceus?_ The two Legends echo as they come gliding back towards the Creation Trio Master. 

For a moment, they expect to be informed of another dimensional barrier that requires their attentions but the distant look in Arceus’ red-irised eyes lean heavier to a non-catastrophic matter. Arceus shows no particular sign of hesitance but the brief silence itself is indicative enough of the pondering going on in its mind. 

_-Come to the Hall of Origin as soon as you are able. I have a favour to ask… and something to tell both of you._

Though their aroused curiosity craves explanations right there and then, Arceus speaks no further of it to the Creation Duo. Giratina must be included in the enlightenment and this chaotic environment makes for poor venue for such significant matter when its Hall of Origin will serve the purpose better. Arceus bids them instead to inspect for whatever damages in their domains that may result from the recent space-time mending. Turning around, Arceus opens a gateway back to its own dimension, leaving the Temporal and Spatial Legends to themselves for now.


	3. Revelation In The Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For months, Ash has been thinking about Arceus' proposal before he finally gives it his answer. Likewise, once making its intention clear, Arceus has been prepared to the small but very real possibility of romance with a human. 
> 
> On the other hand, nobody else on either side has the slightest idea of Ash and Arceus' newly forged relationship.

The days leading up to the Harvest Festival, Michina is absolutely blessed with generous amount of sunlight and fair weather. All the growing crops ripened quickly in the favourable environments; the farmers look especially satisfied with their abundant harvests and talk happily to one another of their fortunes. Michina is vibrant with delightful anticipation for the festival that Ash Ketchum notices evidences of the people’s joy no matter where he goes in the town, especially the town square. 

Ash has never quite seen a festival like it. People are hanging ribbons and other decorative items all around the town square, at the centre of which a large pile of dried woods has been placed. Apparently, a bonfire is to be lit from the woodpiles during the night of the festival, symbolizing rejuvenation and hope for the future. Ash can only guess the size of fire the amassed woods will produce and is rather relieved that the town square is as large as it is, and with a massive decorative fountain to boot. At any rate, Michina has no lack of Water-type Pokémon that can be called upon should the need arise. He lingers in the area helping to unload fuel woods that are still arriving from the countryside before he eventually spent himself a few hours later, whereupon he excuses himself from the scene. 

“It’s a tougher work than I thought,” he remarks to both himself and Pikachu, noticing the curious look he got from the Electric-typed companion. He is sweating profusely from the exertion by now but is still very much pleased; nearly today’s entire load has been transferred to the pile, the remaining of which are being handled by a couple of Heracrosses and a Torterra. 

Ash has no clear idea where to go except to find a shade when Pikachu shouts, _“Pika-pika!”_ and tugs the back of his shirt. The movement causes him to stumble around whereupon he notices a lone figure in the distance walking down the same pebbled road as he is, heading in Ash’s direction. For a moment or two, Ash seems to be hit with a sense of déjà vu as he watches the approaching person; everything about him exudes a sense of familiarity, even down to the way he walks. It takes him a while before the man’s face becomes recognizable and explains Pikachu’s apparent friendliness even as he waits for the other’s arrival. The spiky hair and tan skin, as well as the naturally squinted eyes belong to an old time friend with whom he first met as the Gym Leader of Pewter City’s Rock-type Gym, and later with whom Ash shared many adventures together. 

  


  
*

  


The man is indeed Brock; although they do keep contacts with each other throughout the years, they do not have as much liberties to meet each other in person. Since they parted ways to pursue their respective goals, the ex-gym leader has not gone much physical changes, unless counting his height. Ash himself is going through his teenage growth spurt and is still shorter than Brock, something which he is only briefly disappointed with. The two, having left the road, are now sitting together underneath a huge rowan tree by the riverside; Michina’s main river calmly flows unhindered through the countryside and all the way into the valleys of the surrounding mountains. From their shelter under the tree, the distant end of the river visible to their eyes appears like a giant silver ribbon that sparkles and glitters in the sun. 

All of their Pokémon are unleashed out of their Pokéballs to make the most of their surroundings. Ash has not carried many Pokémon along with him – sans Pikachu, there are only a Talonflame, a Skiddo and a Floatzel – though he is rather amused to see a particular Pokémon in Brock’s care. The Poison Jab-happy Croagunk is still with him after all, looking up at Ash with his yellow bleary eyes upon materializing from his Pokéball before deciding to shamble off to the side, apparently losing all interest in the Ketchum. Other Pokémon in his company are certainly new though; a particularly beautiful Eevee is among them, its brown fur so fine and silky it seems to be bronze instead under the bright sunlight. His Pokémon are truly statements to Brock’s dedication to his companions because Ash finds himself staring, mesmerized, by the most beautiful Swanna he has ever seen soaring out from its Pokéball, following the quick flight of an Emolga which is zigzagging through the sky; a Serperior is the last to be unleashed, its scales gleaming so brightly it seems to be covered in layers upon layers of emerald gems instead. He watches with obvious satisfaction at their Pokémon frolicking in the grasses with each other – occasionally going in for a quick dip in the river – before turning his attention back to Brock. 

“So, a doctor now, huh?” 

Brock’s mouth stretches into a wide grin. Years of diligence ever since he has been accepted to study in a Pokémon medical school speaks of his success, now that Brock has been admitted into the medical ranks. A Pokémon doctor may not have the same status as that of a regional Pokémon professor but Brock, being the caretaker he is, obviously enjoy his vocation. 

“Yeah, and I got lucky too. Got accepted to work at a Pokémon Centre on my first résumé,” Brock said with distinctive pride – a pride that Ash knows is well-deserved, considering Brock’s nature and the passion he imparts to his charges. All of his Pokémon are as well-cared as can be expected, even better than most others he has ever encountered in his journeys. 

“So, what are you planning now?” Ash looks on at the Pokémon around him and recalls how Brock has expressed his desire to be a Pokémon breeder before deciding on his current career. The Ketchum wonders whether his friend still retains any interest in the field, even if only occasionally. “Research and stuff. I’m experimenting with better formulation in Pokémon diets to help speed up their healing or increase their strengths; something like that. Sometimes, I’ll just visit the day care and help with whatever the caretakers need helping with.” His Eevee suddenly bounds up to him, apparently trying to seek protection from the Emolga as it swoops down upon it gleefully before soaring away to chase after Pikachu instead. He watches them disappear yet again into a patch of tall grasses on the riverbank before continuing, “Hey, Ash. Congratulations on winning the Sinnoh League.” 

The remark pleases the Pokémon Trainer considerably especially when he is reminded just how damn hard it is to win over that particular Pokémon League. With the vastness of Sinnoh region, the many Pokémon inhabiting it and the wide selection of skilled trainers coming to compete for the title of League Champion, Sinnoh holds the most challenging battles Ash Ketchum has to face since his Training career. He has progressed much throughout the years but every win he claims is still as sweet as if it has been his first time – and Sinnoh, being the tough nut it is, just doubles the pleasure in his victory. 

“Thanks. Why are you here anyway? I thought Pokémon doctors are supposed to be busy round the clock.” 

“Hey, I AM pretty busy right now. I was travelling around the regions to find native herbs for my research.” His grin returns suddenly, making Ash wonder if his coming here has other motives as well – which is pretty much confirmed when he adds, “Besides, I’m thinking of seeing Michina during the Harvest Festival. I haven’t got the chance to see anything much around here last time.” 

“Thought so.” Of course there IS another motive – Brock is fond of festivities and celebrations, after all. If the herbs or whatever he is seeking are here, why not hit two Spearows with one stone? 

“Hey, enough about me, man. What's your story? You’re not on the way challenging the next league, are you?” 

“Nope. I was just –” 

Ash’s next words simply vanish under the weight of apprehension; his reply has come naturally that only by the next second does he realize that he has no believable explanation or even an excuse to back him up. He has come for Arceus, yes, but to cut his explanation right there will just tease Brock’s curiosity for more… and yet, giving reasons behind his meeting with the Alpha Pokémon is bound to give excruciating headache to his friend. 

“– visiting. You know, get a change in scenery…” 

Ash has replied quickly enough to make his pause ignorable – an amazing feat for the Trainer who has never any sort of luck in worming his way out of difficult situations. At the very least, Brock only spares him a second’s glance before dismissing his doubt; perfectly willing to accept his excuse. This has not come without guilt though, especially considering the trust that has developed between them after all the mishaps they have gotten through. There is no doubt to Brock’s trustworthiness when it comes to keeping secrets; instead, Ash is more worried about his reactions and mental health upon the revelations. Heck, when Arceus first expressed its desire for the Ketchum as a mate, even Ash himself has been plagued with an intense shock which robbed him a few days’ worth of quality sleep, what with all the thinking and, right when he closed his eyes, the weird dreams he was getting. 

Although Arceus has given its approval to have their relationships revealed to a few select people, Ash Ketchum is still not prepared to do the telling. Perhaps it would not affect Brock as severely, seeing that he is not the one being proposed, but Ash is still apprehensive about the responses he will get. If there will ever be people he will be comfortable to confide in, it will be Brock for sure – but for now, Ash Ketchum settles for silence and divert himself to the sight of the Pokémon still happily playing around them. 

  


*****

  


In the serene, untouched dimension of the Distortion World, Giratina soars through its domain with the grace of a Milotic despite its robust build. The erratic gravity traps the Renegade Pokémon in its serpentine Origin Forme although Giratina finds this not a reason to complain about at all. Either of its forme is fine to the Antimatter Guardian despite the involuntary shape-shifting – and besides, this more graceful body allows for stunning acrobatics in the three-dimensional environment; twisting and turning with the speed and flexibility few creatures can hope to match. 

Though physically alone here, Giratina quickly realizes of another mind which is gently tapping against its own consciousness. A vast power lies behind it, one that would have crushed lesser minds if the owner exerts no care in its touch. Still drifting through the space of its world, Giratina clears its thoughts to receive Arceus into its mind. The Renegade Legend sends its wordless greeting through the link for which it receives a friendly warmth in return from the caller. 

_-Giratina, will you be able to leave the Reverse World for a while?_

It takes a few while to answer the Creation Trio Master as Giratina widens its perceptions in a cursory sweep around its dimension. There are a few blobs of toxic clouds, remnants of the damage in the Real World that this mirror realm has stabilized, but there seems to be nothing which needs its immediate assistance. Being the Guardian of the Distortion World, Giratina’s presence causes the toxic clouds to dissipate faster – a crucial role in times where the natural dissolution is slower than the toxicity production, which will eventually poison both worlds if allowed to accumulate. Now though, with only the slightest faults to mend (and without the destructive clashing of Palkia and Dialga to worsen things), the Renegade Legend has no cause for worry if it is to leave its realm for some times. 

_-Definitely._

_-Come to my hall then. The others will be here as well._

_-Arceus, what’s the matter?_

Giratina cannot help the trickle of curiosity in the reply. It is very rare that the Alpha Legend summons them to a rendezvous – sometimes stretching for hundreds of years without any official meetings – since Arceus is more comfortable in letting the Dragon Trio to manage their realms without interventions. When it does, it usually entails a dire situation which requires their combined efforts; clearly not the case this time with the lack of urgency in Arceus’ tone, making the summoning even more perplexing. 

_-All will be told in time. Just come._

And with that, Arceus withdraws its presence from Giratina’s mind before the latter can inquire further. Giratina is admittedly a little taken aback, not by the cliffhanging departure but by the hidden amusement in the otherwise normally-expressionless tone. Something has apparently excited the Original One enough to let it show – quite a feat especially when Arceus is used to exercising itself to monotone both in speech and bearing, a fact which further arouses the Antimatter Creature’s inquisitiveness. So it is with little hesitation that Giratina opens up a dimensional portal to the Original One’s realm and throws itself into the rippling centre. 

Its body detects the shift in gravitational force even while Giratina is still in the dimensional tunnel – glowing with brilliant indigo sparkles, its snake-like outline gradually morphs to the more robust Altered Forme, the red-tipped streamers reforming into vast wings of shadow. Emerging on the other side, Giratina lands with the six newly-formed legs which are merely golden protrusions on its sides a few seconds ago. It has not come here for a while but Giratina does not seem to notice any significant difference to this place – the Hall of Origin, sparkling and gleaming with gold highlights, is a vast area of glass-tiled floor with an illusion as if the whole place is drifting through the air of the Real World. In the endless blue sky under its feet, clouds float by lazily, borne by imaginary wind which cannot be felt. At the far end of the hall lies a higher platform made accessible by tiers of golden stairs; atop that is a throne higher than even Giratina itself, reflecting the lighting in the place in such a way that it gleams as brilliant as pure gold, decorated with what seems to be like streaks of emerald embedded in the surface. 

Lounging upon the throne is Arceus itself, the master of the hall and the very dimension which houses this place. 

The Original One, upon realizing the newcomer in the place, swiftly takes to its feet and descends the throne platform. Giratina holds itself motionless in respect as Arceus approaches; their red eyes meet with each other. Though without words, Giratina nevertheless senses the welcome in the other’s gaze. 

_-You are early, Giratina._

_-Of course; you’ve just dangled such bait no one can refuse, Giratina answers without bothering to mask the impatience in its tone._

Arceus accepts the reply in good humour, too well-versed in the Antimatter Legend’s impulsiveness to take it otherwise. A dual distortion in the reality surrounding them effectively halts their conversations before Giratina manages to fish more out of the Original One. The distortions persist until Arceus, having recognized the sources behind them, grants them permissions to complete their reformations into dimensional portals. Palkia and Dialga step out from their respective entrances simultaneously; their eyes immediately fall upon Arceus and Giratina before them though it is the latter who causes their mild surprise. 

_-It’s not every occasion you see Giratina arrives earlier than either of us._

Dialga mumbles as it shuts the portal behind it. Palkia mimics the Temporal Guardian’s actions and wills the space fabric to close over the portal. Despite their words, the mental greetings shared between them are of amicable nature, if just as curious for their gatherings as Giratina is. Their attentions are immediately tuned upon their Trio Master, having kept its silence while the Creation Dragons exchange their acknowledgements of each other. 

_-Arceus, we are all here now. What is it you want to tell us?_

It is Palkia, surprisingly, who first addresses the question swirling in their minds. Among them, the Spatial Guardian has the calmest temperament in contrast to Giratina’s famous tendency to aggression. Rather ironically, its reserve for patience is larger even compared to Dialga, being more inclined to wait and see despite the other’s title as the Guardian of Time. However, their capacity to wait can only stretch so much and the three of them are bursting with curiosity by now. By no means does Arceus intend to tease them; however, they all acknowledge its often frustrating tendency to linger on its thoughts, involuntarily teasing them with a glimpse of knowledge before lapsing into silence in its deep pondering. 

Which is why, as they prepare themselves for what seems to be a long wait, they are instead stunned to hear the Original One says, _-I have decided upon a mate._

If a pin is to be dropped in the middle of the Hall of Origin, the sound it produces will have echoed uninterrupted in the vast space – such is the quietness that suddenly haunts the four beings now. None of the Dragons quite realizes that they have been staring at the Creation Legend for nearly a full minute before suddenly, as if the spell upon them is broken, they all gasp in unison. 

_-…What?_

_-I have Chosen a mate for myself,_ Arceus repeats just as calmly, knowing full well that the Dragon Trio can hear it perfectly with its current volume. 

Giratina fights the urge to rustle its wings together, as it wont to do in confusion, and continues to gape at the Trio Master with its comrades. Palkia and Dialga are less subtle with their surprises, the tips of their tails twitching every now and then as their stunned silence resumes for a few more seconds. By far, this is the biggest shock Arceus has given them since the last few thousand years even though the Alpha Legend is indeed the most adaptable among them to companionship. Having a mate, for someone who lives apart and aloof from others, is a humongous leap from simple visits to the Earth every few years. 

_-And… have you made your proposal?_

This tentative inquiry comes from Palkia yet again, its curiosity overcoming the usual caution it usually exercises in its bearings. 

_-I have. I may also add that my offer has been accepted just a few Earth days ago._

That Arceus has its eyes romantically upon another is one thing; that someone should agree to be partnered with the Original One is another matter they have not expected. The list for possible candidates is short but even Giratina cannot comprehend how any single one of them has managed to ensnare the solitary Arceus so tightly that it is convinced enough to accept a mate. 

_-Who is it, Arceus?_ Giratina ventures for the first time since its mind has been fluid enough to think after the initial shock. 

_-May I presume that Xerneas and you have –_

_-No, it is not Xerneas, Palkia._

And just like that, Arceus dismisses the likeliest candidate to occupy the position in question in one swift stroke. The Spatial Legend’s wings rustle curiously but it makes no further attempt to suggest the other members of the Kalosian Legends. By right, any of the three are powerful enough being on their own and their roles, to an extent, is those of Arceus on Earthly scale. However, if Xerneas is already out of the question there is not much use to ponder about the others. 

_-Is it Rayquaza?_

Dialga’s sudden contribution is just that unexpected that it even shocks Arceus into mimicking the disbelieving stares of the other Creation Dragon. The boldness is partly fuelled by the same thirst for revelations that plagued them all – and truth to be told, the Sky High Legend is not half as bad a choice, status and power being considered. There is an added reason to their possible coupling as well, Arceus having formed an acquaintance since the ancient times with the Weather Dragon: charging Rayquaza in pacifying the destructive aggressions between Groudon and Kyogre should one encounter the other. 

However, the evident surprise in Arceus’ countenance speaks against the option. Giratina quickly runs a mental claw through the list scrolling in its mind. The other Dragon Trio, this one of Unova, comes to thought since they favourably complement the raw power within the Original One, balancing its multitude energies into harmony. On the other hand, the Golems, especially their Master Regigigas, are equally acceptable, they being Guardians as well albeit of different subjects, but they are less likely to be interested with pairing – 

_-Enough, all of you. You will not find the answer by reciting every Magical Creature in existence,_ Arceus quickly interrupts before any of them can present more guesses to the Alpha Legend. The temporary stillness which results is quickly seized, in which Arceus abandons all the fillers and cut to the chase, _-My mate is a human._

When Arceus announces its intention to claim a life partner, the Dragon Trio is simply struck dumb by the sheer unexpectedness of it; this time, the weight of it is a thousandfold more intense than the last until their surroundings seem to lose the normal flow of time and space. The Hall of Origin is still save for the gentle ‘breathing’ sounds of the four beings, magnified in the unnatural quietness that is filling the place. They stand there as unmoving as lifeless statues, mouths dropping open as if having a weight pulling down on their lower jaws; the three pair of red eyes are aware of nothing but the Trio Master before them and the words which it has conveyed to them. 

_A human!_

The word echoes back and forth in the back of Giratina’s mind as if trying to penetrate the haze clouding its thoughts. To say that the revelation is unexpected is truly an understatement in this case when of all the Legends who guard the aspects of the world, and still more mortal Magical Creatures who live scattered upon the Earth, a mere human wins over the heart of the Original One itself. 

Then again, this is just like Arceus to do something like this. Talk about achievement… 

_-But why?_ It is Dialga who first recovers among the members of the Dragon Trio. It alone among the Creation Legends steps forward to face Arceus eye-to-eye, although there is noticeable effort in the Timekeeper’s part to keep its gaze upon the Master. Much to Giratina’s astonishment, the usually stoic Timekeeper has adopted a tone dripping with contempt and dissatisfaction when it speaks again. _-You will do much better with any other Magical Creatures out there._

_-Dialga…_

_-I concur. They are young and reckless; some of them even have the ego to assume themselves worthy of powers they should not even dream of wielding._

Both Palkia and Dialga have apparently joined forces in the denial, a sentiment that Giratina soon comes to understand when memories of a particular episode a few years ago are conjured in its mind. The Renegade was only able to observe from its Reverse World then, too occupied in fortifying the dimension from collapsing under the unusual formations of the toxic clouds, but the events that unfolded had not escaped its notice. Both Dialga and Palkia are lured to the Real World only to find themselves captured and forced to serve the wills of a human both ambitious and stupid – the most dangerous, explosive combinations of traits to be found in a creature. Weakened by their recent labours in space-time mending, they might have not been able to escape their fate of slavery if not for the interventions from the Lake Guardians – Uxie, Mesprit and Azelf. Though not exactly antagonistic towards humans, the scar that remains from their experiences has nevertheless turned the Space-Time duo wary of them, as displayed by the quickness of their defiance. 

_-Some of them are indeed reckless and selfish,_ Arceus agrees with genuine bitterness, a rather disconcerting difference to the reason why they are having this conversation at all. 

_-But remember too that there are still those who are the perfect opposites of their evils. I assure you that my mate is one of these. Perhaps it will ease you further if you know who I am speaking about…_

So saying, Arceus conjures up a bubble-like sphere from the thin air, its surface glimmering with a multitude of brilliant colours. The sphere hovers still before the Dragon Trio, whereupon the colours begin to mingle and swirl around to gradually form an image from the Alpha’s memories – a young human, easily recognizable from the black messy hair and the bright eyes even if his looks are slightly different than when they had first seen him in the Earthly Realm… 

_-…This boy…!_

They all have memories of this particular human, albeit one of the most consequential encounters involves different circumstances for each of them. Swivelling its head to pointedly face Palkia, Arceus brings forth the image of the Space-Time Tower which stands proudly in the Alamos Town of Sinnoh; a tall, majestic monument amidst the sprawling landscape of the beautiful town. 

_-You remember him, Palkia, as the one who brings you to your senses when the music of Oración has calmed your battle-rage with Dialga._

_-…There are other occasions… but yes, I remember this as well._

Palkia’s voice is filled with wonder as the reflections upon the sphere react to match its own memories, of the time when Alamos Town was nearly ruined from a dimensional decay before Palkia wrapped it back to the Real World. It was this boy who, amidst the chaos and confusions, stood up to the Spatial Legend and forced it to see the destruction it had wrought in the heat of the battle with Dialga before – admittedly an impressive feat, considering that one is a human and the other a creature who guards the aspect of space itself. 

The sphere glides away from Palkia and with it, the reflections dissolve into meaningless colours once more. Arceus turns its eyes upon the Timekeeper next and the sphere follows suit, floating before Dialga and showing an image of the tallest mountain in Michina, where the remains of Arceus’ temple still stands despite the passage of time. 

_-And you, Dialga… when my rage overwhelms all others and salvation remains only in the past, you have chosen him and his friends to set right what was wrong in the histories. That speaks of trust you rarely impart to a mortal._

_-I sensed courage within the boy to face the challenges and prevent what will come to be in the future… or your death in the past._

Giratina notices the tiniest of flinching in Arceus’s otherwise calm demeanours. What horrors that apparently plagued the Trio Master is a mystery to the Renegade though from what can be collected from Dialga, apparently Arceus has faced a possibility of destruction should the Temporal Creature’s plan has gone against its original design. Even the notions chill Giratina right down to its core, imagining the chaos, death and destruction that would soon follow should the universe loses the very individual who safeguards its existence. 

Just like it is with Palkia before, the reflections on the sphere are now depicting the shrine ruined beyond recognition from countless meteors of Arceus’ Judgment strikes; Michina town that lies in the valley below is now nothing but rubbles and crumbled stones. A close observation reveals a bloody and unconscious Palkia at one side and Giratina, in just as messy state as the former, collapsing in the massive lake whence it has come from the Reverse World. To the latter’s massive relief, the display yet again morphs into its unreformed state while the sphere itself withdraws from Dialga. When Giratina finally realizes that Arceus has its eyes trained upon it, the Antimatter Guardian has no doubt whatsoever when it claims, -I have no objection if it is this human you have taken a liking to. 

Giratina finds it not at all difficult to see the root from which Arceus’ affection grows once a little clarification is made – after all, does it not witness first-hand the bravery Ash has shown when he was saving the Mirror World alongside Giratina, all those years ago? Instantly, the sphere that comes to hover before Giratina forms an image of the gigantic, menacing-looking Megarig although its appearance contrasts massively with the state it is in right now: lying half-buried at the bottom of a glacier with rust forming over the once sleek metals, or at least, what remains of it that are not eaten by Magical Creatures such as Aggron. Once, the machine has nearly ripped Giratina of both its power and life force, a horrific end that is prevented only when said boy and his companions come to the rescue. 

_-His name is Ash Ketchum,_ Arceus informs them all when the image of the Megarig shifts to favour the aforementioned youth. Giratina remembers him most prominently in the time of him deftly flying through the space of the Reverse World while they cooperated in battling the Megarig’s master; the sphere responds to the memories and replays the events upon its surface. 

The sphere itself dissolves to nothingness once Giratina’s memories have been completed – the narrative ends when the human is banished to the Real World with the help of a stray Shaymin – and the Hall of Origin is yet again impregnated with a new silence, though this time more thoughtful than ominous. It is Palkia first who finds its words and concedes, _-He is an unconventional choice… but a reasonable one. I guess._

_-A human for a mate…_ Dialga mumbles though more for its own sake than for the hearing of others. When its mind clarifies enough, the Timekeeper returns the patient staring of the Alpha Legend. _-I would give more leeway for this boy, seeing what he has done to us before. If you are certain about this…_

_-You’ve already heard from me, Arceus,_ Giratina readily supplies when Arceus’ attention is brought to the Renegade, thus completing the relief and satisfaction of the Original One after all the troubles of convincing the three with its radical decision. 

Strictly speaking, the Creation Trio Master requires no permissions to do whatever it pleases – the choice in its life partner most of all – but Giratina supposes that its pride in this matter is nevertheless well-deserved, seeing that acceptance essentially means that the Creation Trio, quite renowned for their steadfastness, are willing to overcome their suspicions of at least one human for the sake of their Master. 

_-Your consents are very much appreciated. I have nothing else to ask of you three._

_-Then we will take our leave now,_ Palkia quips in upon sensing the finality to their meetings. Arceus simply nods to the request to depart, sending the Spatial Guardian its unspoken farewell in the gesture. A pink-laced opening stretches open behind Palkia, into which it disappears to return to its own dimension. 

As soon as the Spatial portal closes shut, Dialga apparently decides that it is time to leave as well. Its eyes meet those of the Trio Master; within their connected gazes, Dialga receives the same blessing from Arceus as that which has been given to Palkia before. Its head dips slightly as a gesture of respect while a portal materializes behind the Timekeeper; it disintegrates into little blue flakes as soon as Dialga passes through, leaving only the Renegade Legend and Arceus in the Hall of Origin. Giratina knows that it is time to make a departure of its own but a nagging question anchors all six of its legs to the floor. 

_-Arceus?_

_-Yes, Giratina?_

Again, Giratina is revisited with the almost irresistible urge to rub its wings together despite the gentleness evident both in the other’s tone and looks. The Renegade is unsure whether such inquiry would pass into a privacy that Arceus would rather keep for itself, yet still Giratina’s curiosity compels its stay. 

_-Why now, after all these ages?_

To its surprise, a bright golden aura flares briefly from the wheel about its flank – a characteristic response to amusement. For someone as guarded as the Original One, this is quite an impressive show of emotions. The light-heartedness in its reactions eases the Renegade somewhat for it indicates that its inquisitiveness has not merited it an offense on Arceus’ part. 

_-Why indeed?_ The red-glowing eyes briefly wander to a point beyond their current dimension as memories bring the Creation Legend out of the reality surrounding them. When Arceus returns to the present, a new smile can be heard in its voice, _-I cannot answer the question with absolutes. He has fascinated me from the first time I laid my eyes upon him, yes, but I merely wished his friendship at first, just as I did with those few humans before him. Eventually, though…_

There is more to the explanations despite the pause; Giratina can sense Arceus’ thoughts brewing in the stillness that settles within the hall. Legends of their status oftentimes have no room to set their sights on mortal lives when they have the vast cosmos, the flow of time and the stability of space to focus their minds upon. Unlike Dialga and Palkia though, Arceus still seeks mortal companionship once in a while to be in touch, however tenuously, with the other creatures. 

Arceus loses itself in centuries of accumulated memories in that few seconds it takes to lets out a sigh before it continues. _-His presence stirs my ‘humanity’, Giratina. He rouses emotions within me, something that I seem to forget too easily. More and more, my thoughts strayed towards him until even my hall grows lonely to me. I knew then that enduring was no longer an option… so I acted instead._

Though not visibly, Giratina senses the internal struggle its Master faces in giving the right words to what it is feeling, of how Arceus eventually finds it in itself to not only reconcile with the urges but to act upon it. Such complex and tangled conditions are not easily explained – and perhaps not even Dialga may completely understand the mysteries of time. There are matters which are brought about by destiny, events that are meant to occur in their particular instants. Perhaps such is the case when, in all of its long and ancient life, the encounter with this Ash is the one pivotal moment that triggered Arceus’ desire to embrace an intimate companionship. Still, whether or not anything can be grown out of it is the results of choices rather than destiny. There is no more reason for the Renegade to linger then, with questions that remain only of how things will unfold from now on; a matter to be seen rather than asked. 

_-Until then, Giratina. Go with blessings – for you and your beloved worlds._

Giratina gives a slight bow to the kind send-off and opens its own portal back to the Mirror World by unleashing a stream of whirlwind from its parted jaws. The Renegade’s body begins to revert back to its Origin Forme as it steps into the dimensional opening. The Hall of Origin and its host recedes from Giratina as it speeds back home – but not before mentally sending Arceus its own wish for the other’s continuing happiness in the choice it has made.


	4. Friendly Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, leaving matters to chances can lead to happy surprises.

_With its power-imbued thoughts, Arceus willed the space-time fabric to open a passage to the Earthly realm, refining its opening with the precise details of location. The portal glowed briefly with rainbow colours before bursting outwards: Arceus glided out of it with a kick from its hind legs and hovered for a moment in the sky._

_Down below was the largely brown expanse of a field, still mostly barren but with encouraging signs of greeneries here and there. The signs of rejuvenation were relieving and delightful, knowing that the Jewel of Life was working its magic on the previously-dying land. Arceus tore away its gaze and broadened its sight in search for that particular man whom it had entrusted said Jewel to, eventually finding him atop the butte which overlooked the planting fields. Its heart was filled with gladness at the sight of him. Silently, Arceus flew on towards the man. Damos looked up at it in surprise as the Alpha touched down right beside him with an impossibly light step for a creature its size, hardly disturbing the loose gravel under its feet as it did._

_“Welcome back, Arceus,” Damos said politely, implying inquiry in the greeting with his surprised tone._

_Arceus was content to nod its acknowledgement and cast its gaze to the valley that stretched below them. Its sharp eyes noticed movements in the swaying growths of the corns: the villagers, hurrying about to make their harvests. There were also merry children in the area, playing in the fields and swimming around in the river without care in the world. Arceus internally smiled at the peace conveyed within the scenery it was perceiving._

-Your people prosper, Damos, _Arceus said with genuine affection. Compared to their ancestors that Arceus had brought here many years ago, this generation was a heart-warming progress to behold._

 _“All thanks to you, Arceus. The last of us would have died the last winter if you hadn’t helped us,” Damos replied and indicated the valley before them in general, dotted with budding farms which looked promising in their yields._

-Your own leadership merits praise as well to have pulled them through the harsh seasons, _Arceus responded, spying the human with the corner of its eyes. Knowing the human, Arceus suspected his humility was denying the fact that he well-deserved the commendations. Arceus had seen grander civilizations crumbled under the rule of their unworthy kings and lordships while Damos, struggling with the aftermath of the freak winter brought on by the fallen star, had achieved a better integrity in his people than anyone could have hoped for under the circumstances._

 _“Has the time come to return the Jewel of Life?”_

A change in the subject; how typical of that man, _Arceus mused but said instead,_ \- You and I know that the land still needs more healing before I can claim it back. 

_A sense of loss touched Arceus at the mere mention of the coveted Jewel. Being comprised of five of its Type Plates, the marble-like pearl held more than just the power to heal; within it, brewed the inherent life force of Arceus itself – freely and willingly lent so that the humans could hold on to survival. In imbuing Arceus’ life force in the very soil, the land itself was revitalized – but Arceus was threading a dangerous boundary in doing so for its own life was so greatly diminished by parting with the Plates._

_“You are truly the most generous with this offer,” he said in return and bowed to the other who dismissed it with a flick of its tail._

-May I remind you that it is I who owed my life to you, Damos. A debt of life must be repaid in kind, _Arceus said, suppressing a shiver at the thought of its physical body lying broken in the winter wasteland, bereft of the Plates within which its life force was locked. Its spirit would perhaps persist, fleeing the Earthly realm to roam the empty universe, but naked and helpless to defend itself against the forces from Beyond…_

 _“Arceus, I have plans to build a shrine in your honour, up here on this mountain,” Damos said, instantly replacing its dread with a new kind of fear._

_Memories surged into Arceus’ mind, made disturbingly clear by the strength of emotions behind the imageries: villages laid to waste, small towns ruined in the wake of the conquerors’ advance. The standard that flew tattered in the wind bore an emblem which vaguely resembled the wheels about its flank, only dotted with red gems instead of green in the spokes. The man that put it to stand in the ground announced triumphantly to a crowd of kneeling villagers, all of whom with despair painted upon their faces. The images were fleeting but scarring enough for recollections though mercifully cut short by a tentative call of its name from Damos, pulling the Original One out of the reverie._

-Is it wise, Damos? I do not wish for your people to fall into the same traps as their grandfathers. It was their corrupted pride in my presence which caused their disgrace, after all… 

_“We all remember the histories, Arceus. This is not the same, I assure you. This shrine is not for worshipping but to remind ourselves of your good grace in helping us.”_

_Damos’ respect and gratitude were appreciated but Arceus needed not the humans to prostrate before it and made themselves its servant. Though still doubtful of the whole notion, Arceus consoled itself in the fact that Damos knew better of his people’s mentality than Arceus itself._

-Do what you think is best. I trust your judgement in this matter, Damos. 

_“Thank you, Arceus. We should try having it built as soon as we can. With our Magical Creatures’ helps, especially the Heatran’s, it may be finished in just a few years. He has proven to be a most willing ally to us.”_

-The Heatran have made himself comfortable around here, it seems. 

_Said creature had chosen to live among the people when its former home was disturbed by the debris leftovers of the comet that Arceus had destroyed; the Heatran had been running amok through the valleys when Damos had successfully pacified him with an offering of Magma Stone._

_“Of course, we don’t really have volcanoes here but he has taken a liking to staying around near the blacksmith’s workshop. He has even dug out a den at a nearby cliffside.”_

_The both of them fell silent as Arceus allowed its gaze to roam once again at the scenery of the valley, laid before its eyes like a green-brown carpet. The Michina River was flowing unhindered through the vast expanse of it, providing the growing crops their much needed supply of water. In a few months, the crops would be ripe for the taking, to supply food for the winter; the farms would again be planted with next year’s crops when the snow was gone… and perhaps, by that time, Arceus could return here again._

_For now, though, it was time to leave. Even the thought of it made its legs reluctant to move, its instinct calling for the Jewel to be returned. Arceus forcibly quelled it to the back of its mind and turned to Damos,_ -I must leave now, Damos. My best wishes for you and your people. 

_The man executed a bow in return and replied, “Goodbye, Arceus. I hope we’ll meet again.”_

_Arceus called upon its levitation power to carry it aloft. Its hooves separated from the ground as Arceus simply floated off as if possessing no weight to pull it down. Up it went until the man was nothing more than a mere speck of black on the barren mountain; Arceus glimpsed a smile on the man’s face when it glanced backwards and, though he would not be able to see, Arceus smiled itself._

_Yes, it would definitely return next year. An acquaintance with Damos turned out always to be pleasant escapades after all, even if its time on Earth was limited…_

_The multi-coloured portal emerged in the sky when Arceus thought of it and the Original One was gone from the realm of the Real World._

*

A gentle touch on its mind pulls the Alpha Legend out of its trance-like dream. Arceus lets go of the last vestige of its meditation and allows its full consciousness to take control, evening out its breathing as it does. Too quick an awakening may cause a devastative result, just as going into meditation or sleep with raging heart can be just as disastrous; in the original timeline in which it has gone to sleep, still wrathful at Damos’ ‘betrayal’, the unleashing of its power through nightmares had obliterated the very palace which housed the Hall of Origin, leaving Arceus to float in the vastness of its empty dimension. When the new history replaced the original, its palace was thus reconstructed into reality; as new and untouched as it has been since it fell asleep, upon its return. 

The timid touch on its mind comes again. Arceus grants the mental-caller permission to come into its realm, whereupon a tiny black portal materializes before the Original One. Out flies a little Unown, one of the many Symbol Creatures which inhabit deep, virgin places in the universe – though this particular one has an energy spectrum that is especially recognized by Arceus. Although many Unown have made their sojourns in Arceus’ hall, this particular one makes the most visit and tends to stay the longest; Arceus, in turn, comes to appoint it as some sort of an investigator to assess the many disturbances in the fabric of reality, allowing the Original One to attend them by the correct priority. 

Its telepathic voice is strangely squeaky and wavering, almost like the sensation of its mental touch, and with this voice it greets Arceus, _-Greetings, Great One._

Arceus acknowledges the greeting with a subtle nod and says, _-Does the barrier heals well?_

Since Arceus’ cooperation with Dialga and Palkia to mend the intradimensional barrier that shields this universe from the Void, the Alpha Legend has not felt its tearing any further. Just to be on the safe side though, it has decided to send the Unown to inspect its health. It is better to be safe than finding out too late the damage has been choked full with the Beyond’s forces just stark-raving to get through. 

_-It’s been patched up completely. Not even a seam visible._

_-Good. Is there any more damage that you can sense nearby?_

_-None, Great One._

_-Thank you. You may go now._

As for Arceus… well, its dream brings with it a compelling sense of nostalgia. For years, the Original One kept itself to minimal association with the people of the Earth, knowing how malleable the pride of the humans could be twisted to insufferable arrogance. Their minds could be blinded too easily by the illusions of grandeur they did not deserve until they thought themselves to be above others. Then, along came the fateful encounter with Damos, its first indulgence in a personal friendship. He was a person it could talk to in leisure as they watched the villagers carrying out their daily businesses. And he kept that admirable humbleness until the end of his life… 

_And what a fleeting life,_ Arceus mourns; Damos have had a long and happy existence, so it has been told, but he had breathed his last breath when Arceus was still away to heal its wounds from the silver water and what felt like a thousand strikes’ worth of Electric-type attacks. When Arceus said it farewell then, it knew that it would be the last word it would utter to the man. 

The consequent thought of Ash Ketchum is inevitable, causing the Creation Legend no small amount of grief as it is reminded that its mate shares a human’s fate brief existence, bringing with it a sense of loss heavier even than it has been with Damos. It fills Arceus with an impulsive urge to just leave the hall and find Ash down in the Earthly realm there and then, and make do with what time there is available to them. On a second thought, though… 

_No, not too soon…_

Arceus sighs heavily, feeling like a child for the disappointment that plagues it. Having promised the human to not interrupt his life too much with this unusual liaison, Ash may not appreciate too frequent visitations from the Legend. Unfortunately, the restlessness persists for Arceus, up until it notices the flow of time in the Real World and what the passing days has brought forth. Perhaps there IS something else that it can do to alleviate this agitation after all, if only by keeping it occupied… 

  


*****

  


A celebratory atmosphere envelops Michina as the day of the Harvest Festival arrives, in which the residents fully immerse themselves in it. Ash and Brock join in the fun with the rest of the others; the decorated streets are lined with vendors of various merchandises from simple raw harvests to cooked food; a few stalls are notable for selling non-consumables like jewelleries and handcrafts. However, the real attractions are in the Pokémon themselves; as a rule, the festival holds some kind of Pokémon battles, a tag-team event in a maze of walls to reach their destination where two handsome pewter medallions are placed at the centre. The team, comprising of two people with up to six Pokémon each, has to reach the end with both people having at least one undefeated Pokémon. Ash naturally is grouped with Brock, charging through opponents after opponents as they display their prowess in battles – the Pikachu is obviously Ash’s champion while Brock, the grumpy Croagunk. The match is finally won after struggling with the finalist group of two aspiring Trainers from Unova, themselves visiting the town to see the Harvest Festival; their combinations of a Granbull and a Swampert form a formidable team that challenge Ash’s young fighters to new level. 

The tag-team match is not the only victory gained by them that day; Brock has earlier entered his Swanna and Serperior in a Beauty Contest, both of which win the first and second place respectively – a result that does not surprise the Ketchum at all. What does surprise him is that, as night begins to crawl over Michina, a large congregation of townspeople begin to gather before the stage which previously hosted the Pokémon Beauty Contest, at the centre of which has been placed a single rattan chair. An elderly woman, guided by Sheena herself, comes up on the stage, garbed in a deep-blue cloak that seems a size too big for her. She takes her seat on the chair, leaning heavily on her crude walking stick; her deep breath seems to suck in the distractive noises in the place, leaving in its place a strange quietness that even the distant rustling of corns and the far-off sounds of nocturnal Pokémon waking up can be heard by Ash as he stands in the crowd with Brock. Lifting her head up to face her audience, she reveals a deeply-wrinkled face and droopy, tired eyes that seem barely able to see. 

“Some of you know me already,” she begins in a deep, raspy voice which does not to suit her frail appearance, “but for those who do not, I was once the guardian of the shrine high atop the tallest mountain in Michina. I keep from my ancestors the legend of how Michina came to be…and how, even to this day, it still stands.” 

_“Pika?”_ Pikachu whispers to the similarly-baffled Ash as the old guardian falls into silence to catch up on both her breath and memories. Her convoluted manner of talking is one; her appearance is another: despite her old age, she bears herself with an air and dignity like a scion of a noble family. 

“Seems like she’s a storyteller,” Brock concludes, intending to elaborate more but holds his silence as the old lady opens her crinkled mouth again. 

“In the ancient times, it was said that there was a kingdom in a land surrounded by the mountains that guard the very region of Sinnoh and Johto – a home to proud, noble people. They were kind of hearts and strong in their bodies, noble in their bearings and deeds. The people and their Pokémon, and those living in the lands around them, lived freely and peacefully with each other. In those days, the eyes of Arceus, the Original One, looked down upon them with kindness and affection.” 

The mere mention of Arceus ensnares the Ketchum’s interest instantly. Though the Alpha Pokémon features prominently in Sinnoh legendarium, there are only limited mentions of it elsewhere. Compared to the rest of the Creation Trio, Arceus’ obscurity is only surpassed by the even more elusive Giratina. That Ash has formed some sort of friendship with the latter and supposedly being his very own life-partner strikes Ash as peculiar in that moment, seeing that he knows little else about either beyond general knowledge. Arceus may have taken the time to visit him for these past few years but it has remained rather enigmatic concerning its personal information – something that Ash is not too willing to press about if the owner itself is reluctant to indulge him. 

“Arceus chose to walk among them openly and the people welcome its presence like a close friend. To them, Arceus granted wisdom and knowledge to better their lives further so others may learn from them and be fruitful in their own living. For a time, the people were blissful and their lands prospered until they had everything they could wish for.” 

Her next silence is filled with a sense of sorrow and regret. The locals likely know how the story progresses but Ash, like other visitors, are rooted to their spots as their curiousity mounted for what will come next. 

“The peace did not last. The people, deluded by Arceus’ presence among them, began to mistook it as a sign of their absolute righteousness and grew arrogant, thinking that they, and they alone, had the right to rule over all others. And so, they started The Culling – marching upon other lands to claim them as their own. Those who submitted were taken as their slaves, both the humans and the Pokémon alike; those who did not…they could only pray that the invaders would not find them.” 

There is a collective murmur of surprise and horror at the last statement. Ash can sort of imagine in his mind how a crowd of people runs away in terror as an army overwhelms their little villages, shouting demands for surrender. Fortunately, she does not give details on the massacre – whether because the particulars are lost in time or she is sparing her audiences’ mind, Ash is grateful for either – and continues, “Yet, there were a minority among the people of the invaders that despised the bloodletting. In secret, they helped freed the slaves and together, they escaped into the forest during the darkest hour of the darkest night to avoid themselves being seen. Having no one else to turn to, they preached to Arceus – and the Original One heard their pleas with compassion and remorse for the atrocities that had been committed in its name.” 

“Arceus came to the invaders as they sought the slaves whom they had lost. However, the people were too far gone in their arrogance that they would not hear any counsel which was against them, even one that came from Arceus itself. Hence, Arceus rose in its bitter wrath and dealt them its terrible Judgment in their very kingdoms. The city was laid to waste; its people buried under the crumbled stones of the very city they had been so proud of. Arceus then brought away the surviving innocents to a new land where they could start anew, free from violence and discrimination. Thus it was that Michina was founded by the innocents who sought to escape the cruelty of their haughty invaders.” 

“However, Arceus, fearing that the same pride of their dead enemies would be rekindled in their hearts, chose to stay aloof from this newly-formed colony and bid them farewells.” The old guardian seems to light up with the smile on her lips when she resumes the story, “Arceus no longer walked among us as it did in the past but it still came when help is most needed – and it has done so before, and will do so again so long the people do not stray from their path. Hence, Michina continued to flourish in this valley even to this very day…” 

The old lady beckons to Sheena then, who quickly comes to her side and supported her to stand up. The amazed silence that follows her wake made even her muffled steps audible as she ambles down the stage stairs with the younger guardian’s aid. It is not before the lighting of the stage is turned off that the crowd seems to break out of their reverie and dissipates away to the light-brightened streets. 

“So, the shrine guardians are, like, lore-keepers instead of watching over the Jewel of Life now?” Brock mutters as they walk away from the stage. Having time-travelled with Ash to the past-age Michina, he also preserves the memories of them saving the Alpha Pokémon from its death. “Come to think of it, not many things are different when we went back in time. It’s like a rubber-band history or something.” 

Immediately, Ash’s thoughts are turned towards Dialga, the Pokémon who guards the flows of time. Whether time itself is adjustable to incorporate minor changes in the timeline, the Ketchum thought that the Timekeeper might still have had some meddling done to avoid catastrophically drastic changes. However, Ash is more interested in the fact that Arceus has been so involved in human affairs before the whole Armageddon-by-comet thing. If its presence has been exploited to evil uses before, it stands to reason that Arceus could be easily enraged if it was led to think that the people repeated similar mistakes. 

They are now strolling down the vendor-lined alleys along with most other visitors, waiting for midnight when the festival’s Grand Bonfire will be lit. A seller with particularly delicious-looking pies has Ash stopping mid-track, lured by the sight of the steaming pastries. Deciding that he just have to have it, the Ketchum turns to Brock to have him wait up while he makes his purchase only to realize that Brock’s attention similarly caught – not by food but rather by a figure among the many people walking along the street. 

“If I don’t know her name at least, I’m going to regret it forever,” Brock mutters, his eyes transfixed at said individual. Ash has to really search among the crowd before he notices her: a woman, naturally, but with looks that suggest a slightly older age than whom Brock is used to chase after. 

“I can think of five reasons why it’s going to be bad idea off the top of my head right now; six if your Croagunk still Poison-Jabs you whenever you’re flirting,” Ash hisses worriedly. The way she carries herself, with confidence and grace, speaks of decent upbringing fitting for an heiress of a noble family. A female like her, if not married, surely has been spoken for already. 

“Come on, you worry too much.” Ash would very like to object but Brock is already off before he can get a word out. 

The delicious pies all but completely forgotten by now, the Ketchum is forced to jog after him through the tides of people with Pikachu, perching himself on Ash’s head, serving as a lookout lest he may actually lose his friend in the crowd. He is both relieved and anxious that, once he reaches Brock, he sees no one in the proximity that seems to be her husband, fiancé or boyfriend; on the other hand, the absence of said husband/fiancé/boyfriend leaves his friend free to do the wooing uninterrupted. In fact, her hand is already held in his as if Brock has just finished making a marriage proposal, sans only the kneeling part. 

“My lady, it is a pleasure to meet a glorious beauty such as yourself,” Brock is saying, kissing the gentle hand he has been holding with every two or three words uttered. “You alone shine among all the others that I can still notice you like a full moon among the dim stars.” 

“That is very… kind of you,” she replies – surprisingly, with neither sign of indignity nor being flattered with Brock’s treatments. In fact, she shows little beyond the slight quirking of her mouth, possibly amused at the other’s outrageous approach to what Brock must have thought to be killer pick-up lines. “If I am not mistaken, you are Brock, are you not?” 

Her inquiry shocks her suitor as well as Ash and Pikachu, bringing the latter two to a standstill while the former fumbles with her hands even more enthusiastically. So far, Brock shows no sign of familiarity with this woman and neither does Ash supposed having met her himself before. Has Brock’s quest for a girlfriend makes him famous after all? 

“Such an honour to be recognized! If you don’t mind, will you tell me who are you and how do you know me, my lady?” Brock dares himself to ask, his own curiousity demanding an answer to the very questions swirling in the Ketchum’s mind. 

“Actually, it is rather –” 

The woman’s words are abruptly cut off as her eyes come to rest on Ash. Though her expression does not change significantly, the widening of her eyes shows recognition towards the Trainer. It is unlikely that she is a person he has ever had Pokémon battles with – Ash has rather good recollections of each one of his opponents. Like a moth beckoned by a flame, Ash approaches the pair as soon as Brock calls him over, having noticed Ash’s presence as well. 

“You know him too, my lady?” Brock asks with the tiniest hint of dismay in his voice. However, Ash finds his focus on Brock evaporating alongside any worry that the other may embarrass himself. This female before him has captured his fascination completely. 

She is a tall woman that surpasses even Brock in height. Up close, her facial features reveal an interesting quality; it is a face that may have been of a stern-faced woman or a soft-curved man, her femininity being mostly accentuated by the shoulder-long black hair. Her eyes, in a startling shade of green, are both intelligent and dreamy as if remembering too many things at once. A simple white blouse and matching pants clad her figure, the only adornment being the gold trimmings on her sleeves and around the neckline. Wrapped loosely about her neck is a white shawl with similar gold edges, the ends hanging unbound behind her. 

When she nods her affirmative to Brock’s inquiry, the Ketchum cannot help from blurting out, “Should I know you?” 

It is then that his eyes catch the gleam between the folds of her shawl: a golden brooch, though not exactly remarkable, even a little out of place compared to the rest of her. Yet, the Trainer is nevertheless drawn to gaze upon it. The golden brooch is of familiar design – in fact, it is in an exact shape of a particular golden wheel he has seen before though this one is of course far smaller and, instead of framing the owner’s flank, is clasped in such a way to secure the shawl to the front of the woman’s blouse. 

The brooch may have little else beyond its striking resemblance to the original thing but Ash knows somehow that this is not the case, especially when he glimpses the approval in the woman’s eyes. 

“W-wait, you are really…?” 

“Very perceptive of you, Ash,” she laughs lightly and in her voice, Ash finally notices the subtle similarities to the mirthful tones of the Original One itself. Now that adds more reasons why it will be a bad idea for Brock to flirt with this lady and the shock that washes through the Ketchum nearly jellifies his legs. Fortunately, Brock is quick to prevent his collapse, holding him by the nearest arm to keep him steady. Both Pikachu and Brock are as baffled to the unexpected reactions he shows to the ‘woman’ as they are to the fact that she seems to expect Ash to behave just like so. 

“Ash, what’s going on?” 

_“Pikachu?”_

“I’m okay,” He says quickly to rid them of their unneeded worry. It is embarrassing that he has so little self-control when it comes to dealing with shocking revelations… then again, who can blame him? “It’s just…” 

He gives an absent-minded scratch on Pikachu’s ears whilst struggling with the right words to say, which is not helped at all by Brock’s unrelenting stare. Not only he seems at loss for words, Ash is not even sure exactly what he should reveal to the other without disturbing his friend too much. Fortunately, Arceus – for there is no more mistaking it of her true identity in Ash’s mind now – quips in through the stagnant silence between them, “Ash, if I may…?” 

“Yeah, okay.” He mutters, admitting defeat to the blankness in his thoughts. 

She reaches out towards Brock, her smooth, fair-skinned hands coming up to hold him by the shoulders. Brock stiffens at the touch, torn between elation at having a female touching him and being suspicious about the whole things, but he quickly relaxes when Arceus does… whatever she is doing through the simple contact. 

“Do not be afraid,” she whispers – and suddenly, Brock’s mouth drops open in what seems like a trance, his eyes squinting even tighter than they normally do. It happens only for the briefest instant before Brock snaps out of it with a gasp and Arceus draws back from him. His legs threaten to buckle underneath him as it has been with Ash before but Brock manages just enough to stay upright unsupported. 

“…No way…” 

Her smile is almost sympathetic for the shock Brock is experiencing. Silence prevails between them for a few seconds before the still-confused Pikachu, now irrevocably curious, hops off Ash’s shoulder and scuttles towards the woman-Arceus, surprising his Trainer with the spontaneity. 

“Pikachu, wait!” 

Pikachu is already bounding up and perching himself on her shoulder before Ash can say anything more. Arceus simply lets him be as Pikachu tries to discern her identity especially using his sense of smell; sniffing at her enthusiastically, even dipping his little nose into her hair for extra measure. 

_“Pikachu!”_ The Pokémon exclaims triumphantly as he pulls back a little to peer on the woman’s face. She is indeed physically unfamiliar but his nose knows with certainty that she is someone he has encountered before. After all, Pikachu – being the inseparable walking Pokémon as he is – has borne witnesses to many of Ash’s previous meetings with the Alpha Pokémon and apparently the only one who knows of Arceus’ occasional visits of his Trainer. 

“Yes, you are correct, little one.” Pikachu settles on his haunches and wears the smuggest look on his face as if he has just knocked out a Regigigas with a single Thundershock strike. Perhaps it is justifiable, considering that Brock is still looking like he has been slapped on the face whilst still struggling with the revelation. He does not blame Brock for reacting such a way though, not when Ash nearly embarrasses himself by fainting right on this spot. 

He wants to ask more but the lady cuts in just as he is about to speak, “Perhaps we should find a more suitable place to talk. That is, if you do not mind me joining your party.” 

“Not at all!” Ash and Brock chorus together, surprising themselves and further amusing Arceus with their rehearsed-like response. 

The town square is partially crowded by now though there are still many visitors wandering around the streets. As it is the venue for the last stage of the festival, it is where they are headed to – as do hundreds of other people in the town, just as eager to find places for themselves. Whilst Ash and his friends struggle through the sea of people, a rather random thought occurs to Ash when he watches Arceus keeping an eye out for empty spots. She is likely able to do so in a snap if she wants to but right now, her behaviours are no different than any other distraught visitor who is desperate for a seat. Thus it comes as no surprise when she beckons to a bench quite some distance from the gigantic wood pile though the bonfire will still be visible when it is lit then. 

However, just as they are about to settle down, Brock – who is a little behind the other – is caught up in another unexpected meeting. Ash does not even realize his absence until Arceus points it out as they settle down on their chosen bench; unsurprisingly, he is chatting with yet another girl whom Ash does not recognize. 

“…I wonder who she is…” 

“It appears that Brock had helped defend her Pokemon against a group of Tentacool some time ago,” she suddenly says, adding, “At least, that is what I manage to gather.” 

Ash, less shocked at the information than he is with the fact that Arceus even knows about it, stares after her in bewilderment, then at the pair. They continue to talk with each other animatedly, occasionally following words with hand gestures to accentuate their points. “Wait, you hear them talking from over here?” 

“Well…” It may not generally be a strange thing but seeing Arceus hesitates like someone caught red-handed with a mischief or two is definitely a curious sight. “…I CAN choose not to listen actually. I have limited most of my perceptions but I am simply used in keeping them broadened and absorb as much as I can.” 

“Why?” 

“It enables me to keep myself aware of the possible dangers to the other dimensions from my hall. In fact, that was how I came to notice the falling meteor before.” It takes Ash a few moments before he realizes that the aforementioned meteor is the one Arceus nearly died stopping – back when Damos was still alive. The casualness with which Arceus speaks of an event hundreds of years ago is uncomfortably jarring, being needlessly reminded of the vast age difference between them. To the Legend-in-disguise, it must have felt like a recent experience when Ash has not even been born by then yet. 

“So, um…” There are still many more questions he longs to ask and the most prominent one escapes him before he can properly get hold of his wording, “…why are you like this?” 

“You mean, why I appear as a female? There are no particular reasons actually, other than I merely feel like appearing so on this occasion,” Arceus lets her eyes wander on the Ketchum’s countenance and notices the befuddled expression growing more burdened. “… but if it bothers you, I can take a more masculine form although I will have to find a secluded spot. I do not want to alarm these people.” 

Ash’s already confused brain takes a few moments before he realizes that Arceus is basically offering a chance to cater to his (stupid) whims. Sure, Arceus as a human is less imposing than it would have been in the original Pokémon form – yet on deeper level, Ash cannot quite deny the creeping uneasiness every time he looks at this lady who is not exactly a lady. And to top it all by having Arceus transforms into a man will probably be a little too much for his brain to cope. 

“N-no, that’s okay. It’s fine.” 

The irony does not escape Ash that he has less problem in seeing a four-legged, wheel-framed, 10-feet high Arceus than the Pokémon as a man but he has enough revelations for tonight, thank you very much. Ash wants to redirect their conversation into a more casual topic but is interrupted by Pikachu, chirping off a short string of his limited vocabularies. Arceus listens to the Electric rodent as Ash would a fully-fledged human conversation, every nuance in his tone is understandable like a perfectly pronounceable syllable. 

“What brings me here, you ask?” She stretches her hand out and gently strokes Pikachu on his head, making the Pokémon purr contentedly. “To be honest, I simply feel like visiting the town in full festive air.” 

“You’ve just came here a few days ago. You know… to the shrine?” Ash forcefully quells the more intimate memories to the depth of his mind, afraid that his blush will show up again. 

“True…” She sighs and casts her gaze around; the laughing family, with their perhaps two-year-old toddler snuggling under a Pidgeot’s wing, off to one side catches her attention especially before she brings her focus back to the Trainer. “…but it is also the residents themselves that I want to see. I have come during the Harvest Festival for nearly every year since my awakening. Though I no longer know them personally, it is still heartening to witness them living as happily as Damos and his people.” 

Her words contain the sorrow of separation – like parents mourning the death of their child, or parted lovers who know that they will be unable to see each other again – in knowing that she has outlived the ancestors of Michina people, another reminder that her human image only goes skin-deep. Ash can offer very little comfort but still his hand instinctively find hers, trying to have her lose that sad look in her eyes. She looks down with something akin to surprise as their fingers touch before he sees a smile forming on her lips. A sudden runaway thought occurs to him – having experienced it already with a non-human Arceus, he wonders how it would feel like to kiss her like this… 

_Come on, man. This isn’t really the time,_ Ash berates himself. Whether or not Arceus is aware of his spur-of-the-moment thought is rendered unimportant when Arceus herself leans forward until the distance between them narrows down to mere inches. Then, even that inches are gone when Arceus, with her taller stance, bends down ever so slightly, her visage covering the Trainer’s sight from their closeness. 

Years ago, when Ash was still a kid and travelling through the regions in his Pokémon quest, he had arrived at a beautiful little town called Alto Mare, where he had shared an emotional adventure with Bianca, Lorenzo and the Legends Latios and Latias, the latter two who guarded the town and ensured its peace. At the end of his stay, Ash had been surprised when the girl, Bianca – or Latias shapeshifted to resemble her – had given him a totally unexpected kiss on his cheek. That surprise he had felt then was almost similar to the one that washed over him right now but more intense, turning Ash’s face red with a gentle brush of her mouth. Sure, it is merely a peck on his cheek – not quite how he imagines it – but still it feels so damn good, not to mention pleasantly surprising. Her curvaceous lips certainly look soft but to feel it proven on his skin is stunning him into speechlessness up until he hears a surprised _“Pika??”_ from his Pokémon. 

Arceus withdraws quickly, green eyes dilating wider than Ash has ever seen them before. Her focus jumps between Pikachu and Ash himself, her face changing expressions between surprise, embarrassment and amusement. _“Really,_ Ash? Of all people, I would assume at the very least your Pikachu should have known!” 

_“Pika-pi!”_ The Electric rodent exclaims, now standing on both his hind legs on Ash’s shoulder and crossing the stubby arms in a gesture of irritation. While it is not an outright lip-to-lip kissing, there is no denying what sort of affection the Legend is implying in it. 

“Well, uh, I… I forgot…” He really does not have any other reason than that, promptly earning him a slap on the back of his head from Pikachu’s tail. _“Oww! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”_

Though a bit offended at his Trainer’s forgetfulness, Pikachu is not exactly mad at him; hence the easy forgiveness at Ash’s whined apologies. Ash is effectively distracted from the fact that Pikachu has yet to know about himself being made Arceus’ mate, what with being occupied with the rather sudden progress in their relationship and the subsequent activities regarding the Harvest Festival. With the addition of Brock to his concerns, it seems that his brain simply skips in worrying about his own Pokémon’s reactions – perhaps partly because Pikachu is not likely to have a difficult time in chewing the fact, as demonstrated by the Pokémon quickly forgetting his initial irritation towards Ash and scuttles into Arceus’ lap. 

The ritual of sniffing and nuzzling begins again which Ash supposes to further reaffirm the new dynamics between him and the Pokémon-in-disguise. A few happy chirps later, Pikachu returns to his perch on Ash’s shoulder and nods approvingly at him. “I guess you’re okay with this?” 

“He said that you have ‘been taking your own sweet time long enough’.” A small chuckle follows these words, making Ash blushes more deeply. Brock has said something to the same effect with an added irony when his friend put in that he might as well marry a Pokémon. If only he knew how prophetic his statement had been, Ash may not have laughed as loud as he did then. “I do offer my sincerest apology, though. I have not been aware that you have yet to tell anybody about us.” 

“Nah, you’ve just saved me from one explaining to do.” 

A collective “Oooh!” from the front distract them from each other. The people, alerted by the cries, search for the source before their attentions are riveted by the sudden flooding of heat and light into the area. What it is exactly is only confusing for a few moments before they glimpse the tips of flame-tongues dancing in the distance, where the piled woods are supposed to be. 

“The Festival is completed,” she says with unconcealed satisfaction, even pride. From where they sit, it seems as if the fire springs out from atop the sea of people’s heads before them, writhing and dancing hypnotically. Cheers rise up from the crowds until words lost their coherency among the multitude of voices that mingle with each other. Even the present Pokémon are induced to contribute in the noises, adding colours to the collective human voices. Ash is tempted to unleash his other Pokémon before deciding against it, having realized that there is little space left to allow free movements for them. Besides, both Floatzel and Skiddo may not appreciate heat much, the latter especially so with his Grass-typing. Even his Talonflame may not be up to flying much right now, having exhausted himself battling the Swampert in the last tag-team match. 

Atop the surrounding buildings, there are flurries of movements and different sets of sound; some of the more climbing-agile Pokémon like Infernape, Chimchar and Simisear have apparently taken to themselves to gather at higher points to better view the surroundings and bask in the overwhelming heat. Fletchinder and Talonflame wheel high above the fire and swoop in close to the swaying, dancing tips in amazing displays of aerial acrobatics. There are also other flyers present – some of the most numerous being Pidgeotto and Staravia – but they are less eager to approach the flame as the Fire-typed bird-Pokémon. 

“Oh,” Arceus breathes, tossing back her head and sending her hair flowing in the light breeze. A hand rests above her breast, fingering the wheel-brooch in half-conscious gestures. 

“Arceus? Are you alright?” Ash whispers, careful to keep his voice low so as not to be overheard by other people. 

“I… am fine, Ash. It is just the heat; it arouses my dormant Fire-typing. My Flame Plate is reacting to it; I can feel it.” Her fingers continue to fiddle with the brooch which, upon close inspection, seems to have its tiny gems glow orange rather than their normal green. 

“It’s normal, right? You’re not, uh, changing back, are you?” 

That earns him a chuckle from the Pokémon-lady, her shoulders hitching as she struggles not to break into laughter. “No, not likely. I assure you that I still retain a fair amount of control over my transformation in more distressing situations than this.” 

Well, it is indeed a BIG fire, after all. Ash supposes that someone with Arceus’ sensitivity will be very attracted to it, just like the other Fire-typed Pokémon in the area. To them, it may have felt similar to Ash whenever he listens to his favourite music and is tempted to rock it on. His mom did manage to catch him doing air-guitars a few times when the radio blared out particularly upbeat songs before he left home on his Trainer journey. As a matter of fact, Arceus looks excited as she stares out towards the growing bonfire even though the crowds are now drawing further away from it. The heat it gives off is incredible, on par with the brilliant orange-red glow it radiates out and throwing the town buildings and the streets into stark relief. 

The bonfire burns unchallenged for close to an hour. It will have continue to do so even till the next day if left uninterrupted – it shows no sign of dwindling whatsoever even when the crowd has considerably thinned with many people going home already. Those that remain have withdrawn far back enough that Ash, Pikachu and Arceus are now close to the front rows, getting a good view on the unrelenting bonfire. However, Kevin, Sheena’s husband, makes his appearance at the edge of the square and shouts out a command; immediately, a number of Water-type Pokémon step forward, forming a loose ring around the bonfire. Their Trainers hover behind their charges, their speculative eyes fixed upon either Kevin or the flame itself. Ash spots a few Blastoise and about a dozen or so Wartortle and Squirtle, as well as myriad assortments of other Water-type Pokémon like Psyduck, Poliwrath, and Piplup. There is also a Samurott among the rank, his head held high and proud like a warrior ready to charge into battle. 

_“Pika-pika?”_ Pikachu stretches himself forward, holding on to Ash’s neck for support. The meaning of its question is obvious to Ash but the answer comes from Arceus. 

“Dousing the fire signifies the start of a new planting season although they might wait for a few more weeks before starting on the crop-planting,” she says with the confidence of one who has witnessed it for years. “Additionally, they cannot let it burns through the night unattended.” 

“Fire away!” Kevin shouts the moment Arceus finishes explaining, gesturing towards the fire. His voice is followed by close to twenty other voices calling for various attack moves from the Trainers. It is an incredible sight as the Pokémon unleash their different Water-typed attacks in concert. Heat and cold meet as the streams of water splash on the base of the bonfire like vertical waterfalls which unleash a sizzling steam that rises higher than the surrounding buildings. A loud hissing akin to the noise made by Seviper – albeit one of gigantic size at that – resonates in the area, loudly at first before fading out with the dwindling of the flame itself. Kevin does not take any chance and order for more water until even the last wispy trail of smoke vanishes, leaving only a powdery pile of ash where the bonfire has burnt. A cheer goes up from the remaining spectators, both celebratory and admiring at the showcase of power from the involved Pokémon. 

As the watchers begin to dissolve from the town square, Ash notices that Brock is finally returning to them with the girl in tow… which is admittedly surprising since his Croagunk has a tendency to drag his Trainer away within two minutes of talking with a member of the opposite sex. Perhaps the battles have taken a heavier toll on him than initially assumed after all, making rest in his Pokéball more appealing than foiling Brock’s attempt at courting. To Ash’s momentary surprise, Arceus – who is undoubtedly aware of the pair’s approach – stands up to welcome them. 

“Guys, this is Nancy. We’ve met in Kanto but she’s really from Johto,” Brock introduces the girl with a grin so wide that it is impossible to conceal. “Nancy, this is Ash and, uh…” 

“… Alice.” Arceus quickly supplies when Brock stumbles with her introduction. In return, the Legend ignores the reflexive shock from Ash and Brock, instead greeting the girl with an embrace, displaying total lack of awkwardness in her movements. 

“It’s nice to meet you all. Brock has told me so much about you, Ash.” 

This girl, Nancy, holds a different sort of femininity than that which Arceus chose to wear for herself. Lively and spirited, she reminds the Ketchum of Iris, his Dragon-loving friend who had joined him in his Training adventures for a while a few years ago, although in appearance they hardly share similarities between them. Nancy is lighter-skinned and sports hair that reaches only to her shoulder while Iris’ is able to hide an Axew in it. A string of Pokéballs hangs from Nancy’s belt, the full party likely hinting her interest in Pokémon training, if not a professional Trainer herself. 

“Nancy’s taking the noon train ride back to town tomorrow though. I was thinking maybe we could sit down and chat for a bit? I’m sure we can find a good spot somewhere.” That wide grin, growing even wider, hints to the Ketchum something which he would have been completely oblivious to when he was just a kid a few years back. 

Brock is not usually lucky when it comes to the opposite sex. He has pick-up lines that range from flowery to downright silly, yes, but it is not always his fault, especially when his jealous Croagunk gets wind of it. Still, this girl looks nice and perfectly comfortable with him – plus, he trusts his friend enough to not do anything stupid or reckless. 

“You go on ahead. I’m getting pretty sleepy.” 

“You sure? They said the make a hell of apple cider here.” A look of surprise crosses his friend’s face, clearly thinking that Ash will join him. On the other hand, the thought of only the two of them together colours his cheeks with rosy blush. 

“Me and my Pokémon need the rest. You two have fun, okay?” A well-timed yawn drives home his point just as he finishes speaking. “Been a pleasure meeting you though, Nancy.” 

They exchange a few more parting words before going their separate ways. Though most people have decided to call it a day, there are still a few street vendors which remain open, displaying whatever remains of their trades on the open shelves. Brock and Nancy make these their destinations, apparently going straight to a seller with rows of jars of fruit-based drinks, including the aforementioned apple cider. As for Ash… well, he has not lied when he told the pair of his need of rest. Having run around the town for almost the whole day, topped with the Pokémon battles he participated, both the Trainer and Pokémon are eager to lie down and sleep the rest of the night away. However, for Ash at least, much of his attention is caught by the lady in their company, especially so when she remains with them still as he winds down the street which leads to Sheena’s house, walking a step or two behind the Trainer. Knowing her, it seems peculiar that the Legend tarries with her departure. 

“…Arceus?” 

“Yes, Ash?” Green eyes twinkle like precious emerald under the light of the waning moon, lifted up to attention at the call of her name. 

“So…um, ‘Alice’? Really?” 

Okay, that is NOT what he intends to ask. That question seems to come out of nowhere when he is actually more interested to know when Arceus plans to return home – and when she may visit Earth again, among many others he could have asked instead of that. Ash supposes his subconscious cannot let a matter as curious as this simply go to rest. Even Pikachu frowns at his choice of inquiry, giving him a funny sideway glance. 

Arceus’ shoulders lift up in a noncommittal shrug, saying, “I have never needed to choose myself human names before. It is the only one I was able to come up in that time; unassuming, but better than ending up ridiculous.” 

“At least, we didn’t end up telling her your real name.” Doing so will very likely earn them a disbelieving stare and instant reputations as some nutty freaks, if not being yelled at. 

“Oh, I do NOT want to deal with the consequences,” she lets out a snort, to Ash’s surprise, for it sharply contrasts her humanly appearance; a sound more suited to have been heard coming from Arceus in the original Pokémon form. “I did not expect to find you tonight – and convincing you and Brock has been difficult enough as it is.” 

A sliver of guilt touches Ash at the statement, feeling that he has somehow disturbed Arceus’ original plan during her visit. It is true that the Trainer has no plan of staying after his rendezvous with the Pokémon in the ruins a few days ago, even saying as much to Arceus of his intention to return home on the next day, before Kevin and Sheena convinced him otherwise. His downcast look must have been noticeable to the Legend because Arceus is grasping his hand in hers before Ash can make the awkward apology. He can feel her power, usually raw and unrefined, being manipulated more subtly to cloak her gaze, her eyes engulfing him in a calm and soothing trance. 

“Seeing you tonight is unexpected but it is a pleasant surprise. I have never come here in other’s company before this,” she says gently. Even her voice is laced with the same calming effect, though somehow dampened a little with Pikachu watching him with unconcealed amusement. If his own Pokémon thinks he’s not performing, then he must be exceptionally clueless. 

Ash is still fumbling with his response when Pikachu, deciding that the following silent moments are appropriate to interrupt, again chirps in his Poké-speak in quick succession to the Pokémon lady. She shakes her head regretfully and says, “I cannot. There are matters which needed tending and I have already left longer than planned.” 

Ash, only just then finding his voice in a hidden corner of his throat, blurts out, “You’re leaving now?” 

“Unfortunately.” Her eyes sweep around her dark surroundings. Ash follows suit, at which point he eventually notices that they have travelled the road far enough that they are mostly beyond the lights from the town by now. The dirt track they are walking along is noticeably less trodden than it was when they started down it. “You are staying at Sheena’s house, correct?” 

“…Yes?” 

“Then we will have to part soon. You will reach her house if you continue on this road – but I must go further.” She pauses in her speech, her head tilted to one side as if trying to listen to a far-off voice. “I am afraid this place is not secure enough for me to assume my original form.” 

“Hey, I know I said that I was sleepy but I think I still can see you off,” Ash says, followed by Pikachu’s agreeing _“Pika, pikachu!”_

It is not a question of formality, let alone Arceus’ security – anyone trying to harm the ‘lady’ will be undoubtedly be Judgment-struck to oblivion – but rather, Ash simply wishes to extend their time together. Plus, he is becoming curious to these whole shape-changing stuffs; Arceus might have mentioned it to him once or twice before but it has completely escaped his mind until tonight, when the ability is proven before his eyes. 

Arceus does not object to the request. If Ash may be so bold to say it, the Pokémon-lady even looks delighted at the prospect of company as she leads the Trainer and his Pokémon further down the road. At first, it seems like she is ushering them to Sheena’s house, right until the last junction when she tells them to take the left turn – the path to the foot of the mountain, where Michina Lake is located. 

“It is the only place with enough open space for me to transform while being far from the town to avoid being seen,” she replies when Ash has voiced out his observation. 

They soon come to the banks of the great lake after manoeuvring their way through the trees and along the hardly-visible trail. The vast watery body, made opaque by the darkness of the night, is broken by a sliver of light from the moon up ahead. Gentle breeze tousles the surface, creating subtle ripples that reach the shore as gentle waves, coming up and receding like the breaths of a sleeping creature. Far on the opposite shore, the dark walls of trees rise over the land as if guarding the lake from unwanted intruders. To Ash, the scenery holds a curious mixture of ghostly, yet serene beauty that makes him wants either to get away or just sit there and appreciate the view. However, his thoughts are broken when he notices that the shadows of his surroundings are interrupted by growing tendrils of golden light. 

They are not lights of the moon; instead, the source is Arceus herself whose form begins to glow more intensely until Ash is forced to shield his eyes. And still the light grows brighter, the golden tinge becoming white-hot, enveloping the woman until her outline is erased from Ash’s vision; she is now invisible within the cocoon of light, itself shifting around as if trying to contain something that craves freedom of the outside world. The light begins to swell, horizontally as well as vertically, gilding the dark-blue water until half the width of the lake itself. Being taller than Ash by now, the cocoon of light forces the Trainer to retreat a few steps back from its astonishing growth – and suddenly, the light recedes. Like ribbons being pulled back, the golden tendrils seem to roll in on themselves, becoming a shade or two darker, and coalesce around a new outline; a quadruped form instead of a humanoid’s bipedal. A long, graceful neck emerges, complementing the elegant legs that narrow down to sharp points. The brooch on the woman’s shawl has again taken its original place and size, ringed around the abdomen of the Original One. 

“That’s why you have to get so far away, huh?” 

Arceus’ green eyes have returned to their original crimson but still the gaze in them retains the tenderness as it looks down at the human, whom it towers over. 

_-Yes, it says,_ reverting back to its telepathic voice for speech, _-My transformation is not exactly… discreet. It will become more conspicuous if the changes are drastic._

“You can say that again.” Ash laughs a little; the light from Arceus’ shape-shifting may have rivalled the festival’s grand bonfire in intensity. Anywhere closer and the townspeople are bound to notice the eruption of light from the process. P

ikachu mumbles two syllables of his name to Arceus, the meaning completely lost to the human but of which the Legend replies, _-Oh, I will return when I may. Until then, please take care of your Trainer, little one. From what I have gathered, he has a worrying tendency to go where troubles are._

“Hey!” 

The tips of his ears reddened in a mixture of embarrassment and indignity at the statement. However, his dissatisfied argument (“I didn’t ask to be wherever things got messy!”) is lost when Arceus descends into a half-bow, folding its two front limbs and bringing its head before the Ketchum. Before words can form in his mind, the gold-fringed forehead touches him on his scalp carefully; deep in the Legend’s chest, Ash can hear the contented rumbles and feel the sounds’ gentle vibrations through the contact upon his head. 

_-Farewell for now, Ash; Pikachu._

Arceus retreats upon saying those words and returns to a full stand before them. Though Ash has pretty much resigned to the fact that the Creation Pokémon cannot spend as much time as they wish in Earthly realm, he still hates seeing the Legend’s form rises skywards with every seemingly-lazy stride of its legs. 

“Bye, Arceus!” He calls out finally, earning him a backward glance from the Alpha Pokémon. A slight dipping of its head signifies acknowledgement to its mate’s send-off before continuing on its way. Up it goes, rising above the tall, moonlit mountain that houses the ruins and into a patch of clouds that happens to drift into the Pokémon’s path. The white figure disappears into the cottony scape; a multi-coloured flash of lights spears through the otherwise grey wisps, momentarily drowning the softer illumination from the moon. 

When the clouds whisk away, revealing the sky it has previously covered in its passing, Arceus is nowhere to be seen. 

“I think we should go ‘home’ too. What didja say, Pikachu?” 

He is answered with a tired _“Pika…”_ and a nuzzling to his neck, Pikachu being absolutely glad to hear the suggestion. Ash’s huge yawn warns of his need to find a bed himself and let the sleeping commences. The day has been fun but fully occupied and now is the time for his body to do some catching up on much-needed rest. The Ketchum happily turns his back towards the lake and, with noticeably unstable steps and Pikachu already draping himself on the Trainer’s shoulder, begins the trek back to Sheena’s house.


	5. So Long And Thanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Harvest Festival, it is now time for Ash to leave the town with Brock as his company. However, it's not Ash's style to take a direct route.
> 
> Next stop: Lilypad Town.

In Michina train station, the jet-black locomotive rumbles out in preparation for departure, which is due about anytime now. Under the fading sun, the black metal no longer gleams like it would have been under afternoon sunlight – like rare obsidian which forces the onlookers to shield their eyes from its intense sparkle. However, the relatively shady evening provides a cool, comfortable environment shelter for ash to exchange words comfortably with Sheena and Kevin before his departure with Brock. 

“Thanks so much for letting us stay,” Ash says to the shrine guardians – now back in their everyday attires rather than the formal uniforms they have worn throughout the Harvest Festival – and tilts his cap in respect to the pair. Brock expresses a similar sentiment, which is further echoed by Ash’s Pikachu with a quick quipping of _“Pikachu!”_

Three days have since passed since the Harvest Festival, nearly a week deviation from his original plan in Michina. Yet, Ash finds himself still a little reluctant at the notion of leaving despite having steeled his mind for it last night – the day has been pleasant and cheery with the distant trills of Pidgey in the light breeze calling for his stay. However, Brock’s company will surely make the journey more delightful and the goodbyes less heavy. Casting his eyes about the platform, Ash finds that his sentiment is not unique; departing people shake hands or embrace each other before boarding their compartments, lugging their baggage on board with them. 

Kevin is the first to step forward and pulls Ash into an embrace, just as Ash has seen being done by other people around him; Kevin proceeds to do the same to Brock once he releases the Ketchum, adding, “Come and visit us again, will you?” 

Sheena then gives the two visitors her own farewell gesture; she brings her hand up and lays her palm flat on Ash’s chest, her soft voice failing to bring clear the words she mutters when she does so. However, both Ash and Brock recognizes the gesture as a blessing for a safe journey from the guardian of the shrine, as in the ways of the Michina people. She similarly blesses Brock and even Pikachu, placing her hand on Brock’s chest (who struggles to cover his blush) and right between Pikachu’s beetle-black eyes in the same manner as has been done to the Ketchum. 

The train’s whistle blows off in that moment, warning the passenger still on the platform of its imminent departure. The two immediately hops on board before the train begins to move, metal wheels clanging loudly as the pistons drive them forward. Ash and Brock, leaning out of the open windows, find that both Sheena and Kevin are still standing on the platform and waving their goodbyes; Ash, Brock and even Pikachu return in kind for as long as they are visible to Ash. Then, the train comes to the first bend and the two Michina shrine-guardians are concealed by the following freight cars behind Ash’s carriage. Little houses at the outskirt of the town flash by the windows as the train continues to gather speed, rattling on towards the vaguely familiar countryside. Through the noises of the train’s passing, Ash mutters, “I’m gonna miss Michina.” 

“I don’t see why we can’t come back here later,” Brock replies and hurries down the corridor, peering into the glass-panelled compartments as he goes for empty ones that they can take for themselves. It would have been a long journey throughout the night as the train travels through Sinnoh in its way to the Lilypad Town and Brock is not too keen on spending the time standing like a scarecrow in the isle. 

Though the car appears to be silent and unoccupied, peering into the first few compartments proves otherwise; one has an elderly lady with a girl in pink dress, perhaps her granddaughter, and a Cinccino cuddling close by. An exhausted middle-aged man whose face is concealed by the high collar of his coat has already started to nod off in the next compartment. The third one proves to be their luck; Pikachu is quick to hop off Ash’s shoulders and into the unoccupied seat/berth to peer out of the window, his paws latched on the sills for support. 

“I mean, there’s nothing holding us down to one place. We can always go bag-packing whenever we want to,” Brock resumes casually as if there has been no pause whatsoever in their conversation. 

“Maybe we can even get Misty or May to join us this time…but it might be a bit hard, isn’t it?” 

“I guess so…I don’t think they’re up for travelling right now.” 

As Ash and Brock busy themselves stowing their bag-packs on the overhead compartments, it comes to the Ketchum’s mind that only he and Brock still maintain a degree of freedom to travel – or the tendency for it, because even if it has been years since he took that first step into his Pokémon-training journey, he still finds travelling just as refreshing and exciting. Perhaps it helps that he has yet to have a true cause to remain in one place unlike Misty, whose commitment to the Cerulean Gym has always gotten her hands full with aspiring Trainers hunting for their badges; or May, whose time is well-spent to keep her up to par to remain as Hoenn Grand Festival’s Top Coordinator for quite a few years already. Both paths demand much of the girls’ times and energies; hence their relative residency in their respected areas compared to Ash’s wandering ways. 

As the evening marches on, so too did the train rattles through the landscapes of green and distant towering mountains. Michina town dwindles from sight, details of its streets and buildings coalesce into strips and little blocks, and soon they become scarcely identifiable as newly-arriving clouds, grey and ominous with thunders and lightning, cast their shadows upon the receding town. Nothing can be seen out of the windows even before night truly falls, drawing a disappointed sigh from Pikachu who stubbornly refuses to remove his face from the glass-panes in an effort to see something. 

“Bummer,” Ash mutters, completely losing interest in the darkened windows. Pikachu still does not budge although the drooping of his shoulders shows little hope in the storm clouds dissipating anytime soon. 

“Well, Michina and its countryside got some freak storms once in a while, the folks there said,” Brock, sparing a few moments of his reading to glance up from behind the book he is holding, replies. “They say it’s the mountains and highlands, trapping and directing winds and all that.” 

“At least we’re not outside,” Ash says as a few fat water droplets spatter the window glass. It is summer, yes, but Ash is pretty sure he still does not want to be stuck in the rain anyway. Indeed, the rain falls more heavily soon enough, making Ash wonder if one can get cold enough to die if he should stand outside. The wind howls outside and whistles sadly through gaps in the train-carriages like. Ash has enough to know that he will be enjoying not one bit if he stays awake and retrieves his bag-pack from the overhead storage space. He has mostly clothes packed in there and a little of this and that; he takes out a woollen jacket, brought with him just in case he needs the extra insulation like tonight. 

“Sleeping? So early?” Brock says when he notices Ash zipping close his bag and lumps it one on side of the couch, making what is an unmistakably a makeshift pillow. 

“It’s raining, man. Nothing to see and do – and you at least got the book.” Ash notices the title of it – _The Physics and Physiologies of 20 Most Common Pokémon_ – as he puts on the jacket and spends a few seconds wriggling in his eat to find an agreeable position before truly lying down. Pikachu does not seem to be as eager to sleep as his Trainer does, now that he has found a new entertainment in tracing the trickles of rainwater as they flow down the window glass. Nevertheless, Ash still wishes the Pokémon good night and curls himself to sleep, hoping that the cold will not be as bad as it is outside. 

  
  


Ash is not aware of how long he has been asleep, lulled by the peaceful lullaby of the rain patters of rain against the window glasses and the gentle rocking motions of the train. It may have been midnight when he does finally wake up although he cannot immediately identify the cause of his awakening – that is, until he finds himself being accompanied, surprisingly neither by Brock or Pikachu, but by a woman. Her visage is yet partly concealed by the curtains of her hair framing her face but the bewildered Trainer, with even more bewildering certainty as to his knowledge, knows her for who – and what – she really is. Sitting cross-legged on the couch opposite of his, she seems to be completely fixated on the window as if amazed by…whatever it is she is seeing out of it, except that Ash sees little more than the darkness and the rain-streaked glass-panes. 

“Hey… Arceus?” 

She does indeed turn to face him at that calling, pushing back a handful of strands of her hair and tucking it behind an ear to reveal that expected face. Her eyes are as green as he remembers they have been that night when he escorted her to the lake, and her smile just as alluring. With her head tilted slightly to the windows in a pointing gesture, she involuntarily reveals more proof of her identity: the flank-wheel has now taken the form of a hairclip, a beautiful golden contrast to the black of her hair. “Your world has a beautiful night, Ash. It is why I projected the same to the sky in mine,” she says with an admiring sigh. 

Ash does not understand it, at first – there is nothing to be seen outside but the heavy rain and occasional flash of lightning – but a second glance towards the window reveals an interesting phenomena. As if the window is nothing more than a canvas, the dark, rainy sky too seems to be merely a painting which can be erased at will, just like what is happening now as the original sullen weather is ‘wiped’ away and replaced by generously star-splattered, cloudless sky. 

Also, the moon is full – which it should not be for a few more nights. 

“How did you do that?” 

As always, Ash immediately berates himself for the absurdity of his question. Here is Arceus, a Legend of Legends, and he chooses to ask how she manages a feat that even some of the regular Pokémon can achieve to a lesser extent. If a Psyduck can bring about rain with its Rain Dance, what’s to stop a Legend like Arceus from altering the surrounding to have more favourable weather? 

“…Never mind.” 

Again, he wonders if the Pokémon-lady can actually hear what he is thinking; Arceus’ smile contains that slightest teasing quirk at the corner and the twinkle in her eyes speaks for her amusement – just enough to embarrass the Trainer but not too much to unsettle him completely. 

“Do you have other question for me, Ash?” The disarming smile is renewed for one of an accommodating nature, perhaps jarringly like a parent to a child. 

“No… not really,” Ash says, audibly gulping in nervousness when she suddenly stands up, revealing herself to be differently garbed than she has been at the Harvest Festival. It has not been obvious to Ash before, more preoccupied with the very fact that she is present here than anything else... but he certainly cannot have failed to notice it now. In contrast to her previous formal-looking outfit, she now wears a simple golden-helmed dress that reaches a little below the knees, showcasing her shapely, smooth legs when she comes round the table separating the opposite couches. The golden sandals she wears – no doubt mirroring the hooves in her Pokémon form – strikes the Trainer as a little bit funny in an odd way before he realizes that Arceus has taken her seat beside him and the funny golden sandals drop down to the bottom of his priority. 

“… Arceus?” 

He sounds too frail, too quavering than his normal self with the new closeness. Their bodies are perhaps separated by a gap no wider than the breadth of his palm, a distance near enough to let Ash senses her warmth and smells the oddly pleasant fragrance coming from her. The latter he cannot exactly put his finger as to what it is, conjuring images of flowers, rain-freshened Earth, old fragrant wood and… something else he is not sure entirely. 

“I have come here many times to see this world’s beauty – but for tonight, I come to see you.” Her voice is weakening him and the purr is absolutely telling of what kind of seeing she intends in her mind. Her hands are warm against the side of his face, slender fingers tracing invisible lines from his chin, up along his cheek before gently brushing away the locks of hair which has fallen over his forehead (Ash notices that, in the same oddly fitting way as that of her footwear, her fingernails are painted gold too). Gentle pressure on the back of his head coaxes him nearer to her, their faces so close to each other that Ash can see the trembles of her lips when she moves in… 

“W-wait…!” Ash pretty much whimpers the word out and thankfully, her advance halts as soon as he is heard. She does not remove herself completely from him but appears prepared to at another sign of rejection which is a source of a wholly new anxiety for Ash. Her departure is a sad thing to see, yet… 

“I… um, what if somebody comes in o-or passes by us…? And there’s Brock and Pikachu too…” Speaking of them, where do they have disappeared to? Do they know that Arceus is here, or – 

“There is no one here to bother us,” she whispers into his ears, her breath tickling his skin with the light sensation. “You don’t hear anyone else in here, don’t you?” 

She persuades and begs at the same time – and somehow, it works. He does not believe that his friends should be in immediate danger, or else there would be some sort of alarm to signify anything of that sort. Arceus’ slow approach dominates his consciousness, initially experimental but her kiss, once she realizes that Ash is not about to issue another pause, is confident and loving. He feels her lips, her warm mouth opening and the teasing entry of a tongue into his, and then she abruptly breaks contact from him. 

“Arceus, why…?” 

Arceus is not just close now; short of being in his lap altogether, her body is in as much contact as possible with the Ketchum. He senses her concern for him but there is also a powerful want behind her little kisses and gentle strokes on his chest and shoulder. Her warmth being pressed against his is intoxicating, infecting him with her desires and wishes that Ash has little intention of denying. It seems that even her garment is intent on seducing him which gets crumpled and slid away in just the right way to show more of her fair thighs and cleavage without revealing too much. His hand is gone to one of the straps of her dress, which already slips away oh-so-slowly with every roll of her shoulders, and pulls it down before he can consciously decide whether to be bold or not. 

Her eyes flash – not just in metaphorical sense, but they do indeed change colour from her disguised green to the original deep crimson if she has been in her natural four-legged body. The change terrifies Ash so much that he withdraws his hand fast enough to feel the joints protest from the sudden movements. Before the apology flies from his mouth though, Arceus’s hand is upon his own, grasping gently but with firmness that allows no escape. 

“Forgive me,” she whispers. Her voice loses a little of its more feminine quality but not quite as much as to give it the timbre of a man. She closes her eyes for a few seconds before returning her gaze back at him, this time no longer blood-red but back to the green they once were. “I’m just surprised, that is all.” 

Still, it is difficult to regain one’s composure after such display of shock that is as unsettling as anger. Arceus’ reaction to his suddenness reminds his otherwise lust-dazed brain that she is not without infinite patience. Fearing to see if there may be hint of her displeasure, Ash avoids meeting her gaze directly – that is, until he is coaxed to look up by the gentle fingers holding his chin. She studies him carefully, forehead marred with worried lines when she notices the Trainer’s apparent anxiety. 

“I’m sorry.” Ash means his apology whole-heartedly. There is only a handful of viable excuse when a man loses sight of himself and acts without concern for another, even if that ‘another’ is a being who can effortlessly wipe out his existence if crossed. 

To his mixed surprise and relief, her mouth returns, bringing peace with the gentle kiss she imparts to his forehead. Her fingers relax – a choice to stop or stay. She holds herself close and unmoving in the kiss, waiting for response so that she can make her own accordingly. 

Ash sighs. Arceus does have a way about her that sways his decision as easily as wind can blow away dust. He wriggles his hands free from her hold which she relinquishes with a subtle sense of dejection, though quickly replaced by happy relief when Ash gives her a hug instead. Their height difference registers in their awkward posture for a few moments before that mood-ruining thought can take hold, chased away by the perfume of her body when his hug is reciprocated. The bared arms find their way around his neck; long, black hair cascades down his back when Arceus rests her head on his shoulder. 

“You can touch if you want.” 

He does. Innocently at first as he grasps the smooth shoulders with both hands, wondering briefly what he wants to feel first and whether or not his choice would upset her. Soft, smooth skin meets his fingertips, almost too smooth perhaps, without hint of blemish or scar though of course he should have expected it – this body is only one among many choices of Arceus’ manifestations and to will away a scar or two surely is hardly a difficult thing to do. He dismisses the stray thoughts quickly, returning his focus on the feel and curves of her body under his palms which lures both his curiousity and lust, halted only by the thoughts of possibly angering her somehow. 

“…You’re not going to get mad at me, are you?” A childish question, really, but Arceus receives it in good nature. In return, she answers not with words, but with caresses of her mouth and the stroking of her deceptively slender-looking fingers in his hair, keeping them close together to encourage his bravery. 

It is answer enough to Ash and he moves his fingers along the high points of her shoulders and to her front. Her initially controlled breath deepens with anticipation when his fingers briefly trace the collarbones before passing over from naked flesh to the clothing. Ash hesitates right then, wondering if he is going too fast, but the murmured encouragements supply him with the much-needed confidence. Her body flinches instinctively at the first touch on her breast; Ash would have drawn away if not for Arceus’ fingers in his hair grasping, not with pain, but with excitement that mirrors his own. 

“You’re okay with this?” He asks out of reflexive concern and is replied with impatient humming. He takes that as a yes and begins a tentative caress, somehow not knowing why he should expect lingerie underneath the outer garment, but at the same time excited to feel little between their fleshes. 

_This is so…unreal,_ Ash thinks to himself but lost the rest of the train of thoughts to the sensations from his hand. He has had his time to spy on her cleavage before to get him excited, yes, but seeing is only one thing; feeling the soft mounds under the fabric is quite another; and to listen to Arceus’ precious gasps as he experimentally squeezes makes him desperate for more. 

A broken little sound escapes the lady when Ash removes a hand, though that is quickly fixed when he places it on her hips instead; so close to her ass but not quite, not yet anyway. Most of his focus is on her chest for now as he greedily fondles her breast with the remaining hand, kneading the yielding flesh with increasing pressure until her every breath come out as soft moans of wanting. His thumb accidentally brushes against a hardening nipple, eliciting a little pleasured shudder throughout her body; Ash takes the cue to toy with it as well, sensing her approval in her shaky mewls as he teases her with gentle flicks. 

“Ash…” She breathes and decides that words do not do as satisfyingly as actions. She latches her mouth over a nearby earlobe, tongue slipping between the inner curves of his ear. 

It becomes Ash’s turn to make sound, pleasured little grunts that hitch now and then whenever Arceus complements her licking with stroking from her hands. Her breath washes over his neck in irregular pattern when the Trainer squeezes the hand on her hip, going further and further back until the palm rests on her ass. A moment’s hesitation, and Ash decides to keep it there when his partner makes no protest to the lewd stroking; instead pulling him closer by the front of his shirt and letting their lips mingle. Tongues seduce each other outside of either’s mouths before Ash, unsurprisingly, loses to her temptation and lets her inside. Her dance loses its rhythm when Ash goes for her other breast, sensitized by the lack of attention when the other is quite thoroughly played with, leaving her vulnerable to his fondling hands. Even then, she does not let go of him; instead letting out her aroused groans into the kiss, retreating only when their breaths are nearly exhausted. 

“…Can I see?” 

Arceus flashes a semi-angry glare at the young man, perhaps slightly embarrassed at her readiness to say ‘yes’ and is still asked to give consent when she would not have declined. Her anger, if anger it was, melts a second later though, something which Ash is thankful for. Human or not, Arceus is a terrifying entity to deal with when you are not on the bright side of its mood. For now, she speaks her approval more efficiently as she straddles the young man, to better secure her position and his viewing of her body. Her hair falls naturally on her sides as she waits for Ash’s next step. 

“Be careful,” she whispers suddenly when Ash reaches for the straps of her dress, now loosely hanging on the very edge of her shoulder. “I am not used to sensation, especially in bodies other than my true one.” 

Ash nods understandingly. He swallows a blockage in his throat that may or may not be simply his imagination, feeling sweats of both excitement and worry trickle down his forehead. Just a little pull on the garment and Arceus would have been sufficiently uncovered to pass into indecency. He closes his eyes momentarily, trying to collect his nerves and maintain enough composure to not appear overly vulgar in his excitement. 

_“Hey, Ash! Are you in there?”_

The sounds of approaching steps echo in the isle between the compartments outside snap his eyes wide open with surprise… and a second surprise hit him in that instant that his brain takes a few seconds to associate the vanishing of the warm body in his lap with the lack of the lady in his sight. 

“What in the name of…?” A hundred and one panicked thoughts race through the Trainer’s mind before his consciousness would accept that Arceus is truly gone, and there is only – 

_“Hey, snap out of it!”_

_“OWW!!!”_

He jolts awake to Brock standing above him with an arm in a position which leaves no doubt that he has been the source of the sudden stinging pain in his left cheek. Ash rubs his own face, a mixture of confusion, anger and disappointment washes over him all at once as the heaviness of sleep begins to clear away from the not-so-gentle awakening. Through blurry eyes, he notices Pikachu sitting on his haunches from the table before his couch, murmuring a quiet _“Pikachu…”_ whilst staring anxiously at Ash’s apparent discomfort. 

“What didja do that for?!” He groans out tiredly, willing himself to fall back into the seat that has been his bed until the slapping. Pikachu leaves the table to hop on the couch and settles beside his Trainer, speaking his concern with backward- drooping ears and a worried frown on his face. 

“You were tossing around in your sleep, man. It looks like Darkrai has been messing with you.” He points out to the crumpled jacket that has slipped off him and now lies on the floor beside the pillow-turned bag-pack, which now scarcely looks like a bagpack, from Ash’s sleeping restlessness. 

As he half-consciously strokes Pikachu’s back for reassurance, Ash’s mind reels back to the dream-memory of woman-Arceus in her funny golden footwear and that simple dress she wears, and how he almost got it off her before his dream continue to the good part. Trying to suppress the imminent blush by reimagining Arceus as the towering, intimidating quadruped it originally is, Ash unfortunately finds himself caught in an allure of different flavour, but no less intense. While it is difficult to picture Arceus fitting into the cramped train compartment, he is instead reminded of their time together in the shrine where Arceus’ seducing grace was made evident when it is really engaged in courting. There is a frightening/delicious vividness to his vision; of him lying before the Pokémon, its mouth opened ever so slightly to show the miniature fangs which seem to be absent altogether the moment the jaws close around him… 

“I bet that's Cresselia’s fault.” A new curling sensation gathers in the pit of his stomach and Ash quickly refocuses himself on the thoughts of a random Mr. Mime and his endless performance instead; it comes with such a wonderful result that sends him cringing internally for a moment. 

“Huh? What’s that, Ash?” 

Brock has been busying himself in packing his noticeably well-ordered bag-pack, neatly folding his used jacket and a Luvdisc-patterned sleep patch into it. Ash’s mumbling has gone unnoticed in his focus at the task at hand and the Ketchum, being not too keen to repeat himself on the topic, waive off the accidental attention with an inquiry of his own, “Are we there?” 

“Almost.” The bag-pack tilts to the side a little in the process, revealing its choke-full interiors which include not just clothing and other necessities, but also a collection of cooking utensils which testify Brock’s incredible skills of arranging things in limited spaces that Ash cannot quite understand, let alone master for himself. “You can see a bit of the town from the window. Might take half an hour before the train stops though.” 

Pikachu scrambles to the window as Ash pushes himself up and gazes outside from his seat. The sun high in the sky marks the time as afternoon and, in the distant, jagged lines on the horizon hint of the sprawling buildings of Lilypad Town. True to Brock’s estimation, it is not until near an hour later that the train finally slows to a crawl as it enters the suburbs, eventually stopping with a loud billowing of its whistle soon after. As it turns out, the other passengers do not join Brock and Ash – with Pikachu hanging firmly to the latter’s shoulder – as they disembark at the station; instead, two more families hurry inside, even though Ash is quite sure that the train is not due for a at most half an hour. 

Brock becomes some sort of a guide to them by the virtue of experiences, having set his foot in the town a few times before, and a digital map he frequently consults from a palmtop that looks deceivingly like a silver Pokedex. The afternoon is excessively hot, it seems, for even as they try to escape the crowd at the train station, Ash finds his shirt becoming drenched with sweats; trickles of it run freely down the side of his face as if he has just splashed his face in a pond or something. It thus comes as a relief to them when they finally emerge to the streets which, whilst servicing the passage of cars and other such vehicles and with sidewalks for the pedestrians, are wide enough to avoid crowding. However, they have not walked far when Pikachu calls out in urgent chirps, forcing Ash’s head to turn towards a row of dreary, gloomy buildings with paints so severely peeled off that there is no telling their original colour except for the barest patch of remaining paint. Perhaps a project abandoned after failure that Ash does not know about; or perhaps simply they have grown outclassed by other buildings that sprout around the town, a more appealing prospect of home for the citizens than this half-crumbled construction. 

“Hey, what is it?” He sees nothing of importance but Pikachu’s agitated tail-waving speaks otherwise. The Pokémon hesitates, little nose twitching with critical pondering before jumping off Ash’s shoulder. 

Shocked but still aware of the urging sounds coming from Pikachu as it scuttles off, Ash takes pursuit of it with Brock following closely behind. Shadows cast by the crooked apartments into the narrow gap in-between are deep enough to make their going difficult by vision alone; some of the vines growing along the cracked walls are long enough to trail on the ground, making themselves susceptible to entanglement as Ash and Brock rush through the alley. The Electric mouse weaves through debris and trash that have been left for whoever knows how long with less difficulty, and continue to mark his progress with loud calls so that the humans can follow. The patters of their sneakered feet become ominously loud the further they go into the alley; a stench of mold and decay fills Ash’s nostrils and making him cough, nearly bad enough to make him give up before a definitive call from his Pokémon lends him the needed curiousity to fight the discomfort. Pikachu is barking off urgently, pointing towards an unidentifiable lump which leans against the wall at the end of the alleyway. Only it is neither unidentifiable nor insignificant lump once they are close enough to make it out for what it really is, their breaths ragged from the sudden exertion. The dreadful surprise is revealed to them in full as their eyes fall upon the object of Pikachu’s interest. 

A man lies unconscious before them, the barest rise and fall of his chest the only indication of him still breathing. 

  
  


*****

  
  


The Guardian of Space drifts through the ocean of innumerable pinkish spheres in the dimension where it has made its home, the more distant ones appearing as increasingly small pinpricks of lights, and the furthest lose their details and seen as a swath of pinkish nebula laid across the dark background. Palkia briefly touches the surface of the bubbles within reach with its mental sense before moving on to the next, having satisfied itself in the stability of the spheres. 

_Constants and variables,_ Palkia thinks to itself as it touches another sphere, deems it stable for existence, and drifts away yet again. 

Flimsy-looking though they were, the spheres are not simply bubbles that float uselessly within the Spatial Guardian’s domain; each of them represent innumerable events in the universe, the possible ifs that have come to pass, still are, and yet to be. They appear to Palkia as windows into the endless possibilities in the course of this universe from which it can glimpse how events will unfold if certain _variables_ are favoured over another, within certain limits as set by their own _constants_ – much like how a Sharpedo can swim in any direction it pleases as long as it stays in the water. Palkia watches as the latest sphere it inspects blurs into complete incoherency as more factors intermingle to produce results, and lets it go with a sigh. Visions of the occurring present are readily viewable but grow more difficult to discern the further Palkia extrapolates the event through the myriad of ‘ifs’. 

For all of that, though, it is not Palkia’s duty to observe each and every event as depicted in the spheres or govern the proceeding of the world – not even Arceus claims such monstrous responsibility that no creature can undertake without bias and carry out with complete justice and reasons. His is merely to guard what it is against unnatural influences that seek to destabilize reality with conflicting variables, just as Dialga watches over the flow of time to prevent rampant tides that may undo all that have been done, or unravel the future into complete disarray: A Sharpedo who has not only leapt clear out of the water but finding itself irrevocably stranded on the beach. Where Palkia is endowed with the power to traverse the fabric of time-space at ease, Dialga can instead discern the exact instants of the events and actively dive into the time stream, to influence when its touch is needed. Where it is foggy to Palkia’s vision, Dialga’s eyes can pierce through the haziness of both past and future, and clarify the present that is forming from the choices. 

Without much coaxing, Palkia’s thoughts consequently lands on the Creation Trio Master; Arceus seems to have little to care for in the eyes of the mortals but it has been its vigilance that has kept the hungry reaches of the forces from Beyond at bay. It is far too easy to lose sight of their threats when they may lay dormant for millennia before suddenly surging in intensity, seeking to devour energy from this side of the universe to strengthen themselves with – but Arceus does not forget. And for all that, though, Palkia is still struggling with the strange, twisted amusement whenever its thoughts land upon the fact that its Trio Master – mighty, reserved and proud as it is – yielding to a temptation from a human, and not even deliberately given at that. As far as it can tell, the initiation has not been preluded by offering of gifts or constant praises on his lips; Palkia finds this piece of information consoling, knowing that the Original One is not swayed by what can be amounted to as bribes. 

Dialga, however, is still less inclined to be sanguine about the whole notion when it last met the Timekeeper in the neutral space between their home dimensions. 

_-It is maddening enough as it is,_ the Timekeeper has expressed to its Spatial counterpart with a frustration it has carefully kept from showing in Arceus’ presence, _-that Arceus should interact directly with the messy human affairs before. And now… now, a human mate?!_

Palkia has been noncommittal to Dialga’s apparent distress though it does share some of those concerns. Arceus seems to have discarded all notions of sanity with the decision, yes, but why not let it be and see how things will turn out for them? Certainly it is not Palkia’s business to be carrying out matchmaking service, plus to do so will not only express doubts in Arceus’ decision (which Arceus may tolerate), but also to insult its choice as unworthy (which Arceus may be less eager to tolerate). Palkia takes comfort in the knowledge that the chosen human is not a complete stranger to the Creation Trio, and has proven his credibility with an impressive record of various feats towards mortal Creatures and Legends alike. Palkia has said as much to the Temporal Guardian by way of assurance, though it was met with a rather cryptic huff afterwards. 

_-Well, he is indeed a promising youth… for a mortal’s standard,_ Dialga conceded, somewhat mollified by Palkia’s subtle reminder; not even the proudest creature can easily disregard one’s rescue from the vicious anger of Giratina who would have happily kept the Timekeeper imprisoned in Reverse World if its misunderstanding has been left uncorrected, _-But if that Ash Ketchum should be unpleasant to the Master –_

Neither of them has thought it likely that Ash would be so foolish as to entertain the idea of upsetting the Alpha Legend. Nevertheless, Palkia has allowed the other to complete its vow, sensing the condemnation made more out of Dialga’s need for some self-reassurance than from any true belief of it voluntarily happening. Dialga took its leave for its Temporal Dimension then, and Palkia to its own; but their conversations continue to ring in its head every once in a while. With a casual flick of its armored wrist, Palkia extracts a bubble among the sea of other pinkish spheres and holds it aloft, willing visions of the young human to materialize within it. 

Ash’s healthy cheeks lose their rosy glow ever so slightly in the sphere’s display, from whatever it is that has been revealed by Arceus’ distant voice. Its words still yet incomprehensible though, as sounds are only just beginning to coalesce around the forming images. Palkia fixes a crimson eye upon it intently, its ears opened to latch on to the human’s stammered reply. 

_“… but you can’t be serious! There’s got to be a mistake; maybe I don’t understand you well enough –”_ Ash Ketchum shuts his mouth abruptly, cutting off his string of seemingly unending sentences when he realizes how very close he is to devolve into nonsensical babbling. With a deep calming breath, he tries again, more slowly, _“… Arceus, am I hearing this right? That you want me as your…m-mate…?”_

_-Why, yes,_ Arceus’ voice can be heard in the background clearly although the speaker itself is still outside the range of the sphere’s display. Palkia, being close as it is to the Creation Legend, notices the slightest quiver of worry in it that others would have not noticed. _-I do indeed intend to make you my life-partner. That is, if you would give me your consent._

_“B-but Arceus, I… Look at me; I’m just a human and you’re…”_ His voice trails helplessly into silence. Instead, he gestures towards the Alpha Legend in overall to finish what his words has left hanging. 

Arceus finally moves into the sphere’s field of vision, albeit taking almost half of the scenery from its relative immensity to the human. What Arceus has just evidently proposed to the young man becomes seemingly even more ridiculous when standing so close to each other and their size differences put into clear comparison. 

_-Pray do not be so disturbed by it, Ash._ The words are calm and soothing, as is its tone, but again Palkia hears the resonating distress that Arceus has put itself into when it has unsettled the Trainer so. _-I will not do anything that is beyond your willingness. If it is mere friendship that you wish of me, as it has been these recent years, then it will remain so._

Silence falls between them, a brooding, anxiety-filled stillness that would have strained patience and formality alike between the two – despite the curiosity tugging at Palkia’s consciousness, the guilty weight of encroaching upon their private moments makes it dismiss the viewing sphere instead. Furthermore, no matter what courtesies or consolations that have been exchanged between them afterwards, Ash Ketchum will end up agreeing to a relationship with one of the most, if not itself _the_ most powerful Magical Creature in existence. 

_Perhaps I should arrange an audience with him someday; it is only proper, with him being made Arceus’ consort,_ Palkia muses as it glides away, its stiff multi-panelled wings serving almost like a rudder in picking its course carefully among the sea of reality-bubbles. As interesting as the prospect is, there are still duties to be attended to when its sense detects a sphere with a compromised integrity drifting nearby.


	6. A Moment To Be Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tonio's conditions come as a shock to both Ash and Brock. They have done all they can, but Ash can't shake off his uneasiness. 
> 
> Luckily for him, Arceus is there to lend an ear.

“You two are the ones who brought him here, is that correct?” 

The nurse asks with remarkable collectedness, considering the awkward scene that unfolds before her although her eyes occasionally make the curious jump to Brock who, in imminent danger of the Croagunk’s Poison Jab, has stayed well behind Ash. 

“Yeah, we’re his friends. How’s he doing right now, miss?” Belatedly, Ash realizes that her name is indeed available on the name-tag pinned to her breast-pocket, though she is already lost in the pages of reports stuck to the clipboard before the Trainer can amend himself. 

“Mr. Martínez is currently held in our public ward, although he is still under strict monitoring,” Cherry says, reading from the report and scribbling a few additional notes as she continues, “Examinations reveal that he suffers bruising, a few fractured bones in his arms and what seems to be evidences of traumatic injuries due to blunt objects. However, his condition has been stabilized and is no longer in life-threatening situations.” 

It occurs to Ash in that moment that he has never really known Tonio’s full name before. Still, their brief acquaintance does not in any way undermine Ash’s concern for the other’s well-being. Slumped in some forgotten alley, he had presented every bit the look of a beggar dying of starvation and neglect when they found him, and his less-than-orderly (to put it simply) clothing has not improved the impression. He was barely even recognizable; his gaunt, deathly pale face has been mostly obscured by the long and unkempt hair which has grown to the coarseness of a Tauros’ fur. Tonio may have passed as a complete stranger to them if not for the identification card they found tucked in his pocket, bearing his full name, hometown and passport picture, all of which indicate that he is indeed the one Tonio of Alamos. Ash remembers him as almost an opposite of himself; a quiet, introverted scientist with a penchant for quantum physics despite his great grandfather being the one who envisioned and constructed Alamos’ most iconic structure – itself being instrumental to dissolve the tensions between Dialga and Palkia before Alamos ended up being destroyed in the crossfires. 

Lacking the strength to move him between them, Brock eventually called upon his Serperior for transport to the hospital, where Tonio has been received with great alarm and care by the aides-in-charge, and rolled into the operation room with three doctors in tow. For more than an hour, Brock and Ash has been waiting for updates whilst the doctors worked upon him behind the closed doors, hoping fervently that they have not really sent a corpse rather than merely a very sick man. The appearance of Cherry has delivered them news that is more encouraging than they originally hoped for; a cause enough to breathe their relief. Apparently, the Croagunk realizes that there are no wayward tendencies for Brock’s part by this time and allows himself to be recalled into his Pokéball. The ex-gym leader makes his way towards them both, wiping sweats off his brow unceremoniously. “Is he going to be okay?” 

“The greatest dangers have passed. Given the time, he has a good chance for full recovery,” She replies with an air of appreciable optimism. A Blissey comes up to her with a new clipboard which she gives a cursory glance before scrawling her signature. The Blissey chirps her thanks and is off, waddling down the hospital corridor and disappears into another ward at the end of it. Cherry returns her attention to them and continues as if there has been no pause whatsoever. “We are still waiting for him to wake up. For now, we will continue treating him until he has recovered enough to be discharged. If you wish to see him, it will be better if you come tomorrow.” 

They do not argue with that, knowing the delicacy of Tonio’s situations. They have done all they can but it still does not stop Ash from feeling wretchedly useless even though the only one with medical knowledge is Brock, who will be useful only if Tonio suffers no heavier injury than a broken leg. 

“I can’t say for sure,” Brock replies when asked of the time it takes for Tonio may take to wake up. “I sure can’t tell exactly how bad he got it, but I do hope he’ll come around soon.” 

Ash chooses to not venture further with the inquiries, partly because he does not know what questions can be effectively asked that is not beyond their knowledge; and partly because Brock is now fumbling with his wallet to pay the inn’s receptionist before him. By almost unspoken consent, they decide to lengthen their stay at Lilypad Town, something which Ash is inclined to do himself even if Brock should decide otherwise – it feels too uncomfortably like deserting a friend in need if he leaves so soon, as irrational as that sentiment may seem. Ash reaches for his own wallet and hands the waiting girl a few bills of his own, to which Brock is about to open his mouth in protest. 

“You can pay me when we reach the next town,” Ash reaches over to Brock and shuts close the mouth initially hanging open. “I still have my prize money from the wins, remember?” 

Ash quickly hurries upstairs, his bag-pack slung over one shoulder and Pikachu grappling on the other, forcing Brock to swallow back the protest teetering at the end of his tongue, and follows his friend instead. The lodging of their choice is a two-storey, room-by-room accommodation at the edge of the town where it is not too busy with city life, yet still within reasonable walking distance to the hospital. They settle down quickly enough in their room, having little possessions between them but those in their bags. 

“I gotta say, today’s been pretty…unexpected,” which is a kind of understatement, even for Ash; sure, they have had crazy things happening before when they were travelling but nothing quite prepares them from a lazy train journey to finding a dying man in an alley. 

Unfortunately, Brock finds it easier to lay down and rest after Serperior-riding around the town than Ash. He, on the other hand, is much too edgy to just sit there even as Brock has already taken off his travel-stained sneakers and lay himself down, in all appearances ready to fall asleep in seconds. Lilypad Town may not be a bustling city but it still tugs at Ash with prospects of its various sights and sounds. “

I’m gonna go and have a walk around,” Ash eventually announces and is answered with Brock’s grunted acknowledgement, made muffled from coming under the cover of his arms over his face. 

Pikachu expectedly joins him for the sight-seeing, being unable to rest as fitfully as his Trainer. It barely dawns on Ash before but, as he finally relaxes himself and takes in his surroundings, he realizes that the inn is overlooking a forest nearby – not the sort of wild, intricate maze-like pathways the likes of Viridian back in Kanto, or Johto’s dark Ilex Forest. It is not as thickly grown with trees but certainly more than mere bushes; a safari or a forest park perhaps, one which people can camp in to escape the hustle-bustles of a city-life. A visible dirt track leads into it even, serviceable for entries by four-by-fours and on-foot visitors. One of the latter can even be seen as of now…before Ash realizes that she is not clothed in any way suitable for someone to spend an adventurous night alone in the forest. Ash can’t quite believe it at first before Pikachu’s calls confirm that it is not merely his own eyes playing tricks in the last evening lights. However, a certain familiarity strikes him when seeing the simple yet meticulous articles of her clothing, white as snow and gleaming at the edges with delicate golden patterns. 

_“…Arceus…?”_ he whispers, the name coming easily to mind as the lady disappears into the lengthening shadows within the forest. There is an unexplainable conviction behind that identification even though he glimpses nothing more than her clothes and the flow of black hair, with not a clear sight of her face. It is like the dream all over again; knowing with such an absolute certainty, as if the name is whispered to his knowledge. 

The Trainer does not need Pikachu’s urging to fly after her although he does make sure to run inside to pick up his bag-pack and all his travelling stuffs, just to be sure. Brock may be right to be sceptical in Ash finally outgrowing his recklessness – and he may have been right too – but at least Ash is not _that_ stupid now to endanger himself. Ash consoles himself further that there will still be a few hours of daylight left and his Holocaster is all charged and ready to go. He has his Pokémon with him after all, and if all else fails his Talonflame can be the scout for a way out. 

“We can always turn back if something happens,” he retorts out loud by way of ending all his worries. Pikachu’s spirited assurance is at least somewhat comforting whilst making his way to the edge of the forest. 

The forest is thankfully sparse enough to allow shafts of sunlight to penetrate through the canopies although Ash decides to stick to the well-defined trail. There is no sign of another human company even after what feels like an hour of walking, though a quick glimpse on his watch shows that the time elapsed since entering is hardly more than ten minutes. The steady murmurs of forest-Pokémon’s sounds, though the creatures themselves remain mostly out of sight, reassure him further; the more worrying will be complete silence which, from experience, always heralds troubles in one form or another. 

However, despite the lack of apparent danger, a fruitless half-an-hour search becomes increasingly frustrating to the Ketchum. Patience is not always his virtue, after all, and concern of the diminishing daylight does not at all encourage his continued search. 

“Maybe I’ve been seeing things…” he mutters to himself, less reluctant to believe his previous conviction now that he finds himself standing in the forest with little to proof the functionality of his eyes. There have been flitting shadows of what may have been a Zigzagoon or a Linoone in the bushes lining the trail, and passing bird-like shapes here and then, but not what he comes here for. He contemplated shouting more than once but the simple solution does not appeal; he will certainly disturb the forest dwellers in that case, or send other people to his location upon which he may be hailed as a madman upon his solitude discovery. Of course, Arceus herself may hear him but for some reason, intuition more than carefulness holds his voice back, just as sensing it, rather than seeing or hearing the presence of another behind him, makes him turn around. 

Arceus is there, to his surprise, but this is not the woman-Arceus as he has come to expect but the vaguely equine creature which it is widely known as. However, it makes no difference whether the Legend stands as a human or hovers as it does now; the relief that comes flooding him when he hears the resonant voice is still the same either way. 

_-Ash, is that really you?_

He does not confirm or even say ‘hello’ as he usually does, instead crossing the short distance spanning them with a few leaping steps and hugs the leg nearest to him as a reflexive greeting. He is glad that the limb feels solid in the encircling of his arms, a tactile proof of its presence being as real as the Pikachu still holding on to his shoulder. A small jerk shudders through the Legendary Pokémon but the shock is quickly overcome as Ash feels the nuzzling of the metal-edged forehead against his shoulder. 

_-It is good to see you two again,_ Arceus says, allowing its feet to come fully in contact with the ground to better its touch with the human. _-I hope I find you are all well?_

“We’re good,” Ash replies, finally releasing the leg from his hugging. Arceus, however, retreats only so far as to take in Ash in his entirety – a separating distance only about an arm’s length, and still close to feel the gentle breaths coming out from the Legend. “Though you could just cut the chase and meet us sooner.” 

_-I have not realized that you will be searching for me,_ Arceus snorts in haughty defiance, though the gesture is somewhat softened by it allowing the stroking on the lower jaw. _-I would not have known if ‘they’ did not come telling me that a human is wandering into the forest and muttering my name._

As it speaks, Arceus gives a little flick of its head to the side, where several pair of Linoone’s blue eyes peek out from a cluster of berry shrubs. A few of their furred heads poke out from the shadows at the brief mentioning and sniff the air judgmentally. The disappear back into their hideout, apparently satisfied, after Arceus gives them thanks for their information, although a few does stay put and continue to watch them with more curiousity than their initial wariness. 

“I see these guys… I just didn’t give much thought about them.” Ash remembers now the glimpses of Pokémon along the way, and how he almost feels as if under watch all the while. He has casually dismissed them then, being under the impression that these Pokémon are merely curious and that he wished to avoid disturbing them in his search. “I guess I should pay more attention from now in, huh?” 

_-To be fair, they are being cautious as well. They do not know why you’re here, and assumed that somehow you meant to find me._ Arceus pauses to favour staring over speaking, red eyes fixed upon him with studious intensity. _-Has something bothered you, Ash? You look troubled._

There is, indeed; the image of Tonio lying in the alley, sallow-faced and dirty, and the doctors swarming over him upon arrival at the hospital, continues to play in the back of his mind. Ash is just surprised that his worry shows enough for Arceus to see on his face – or maybe it senses his feelings instead, in which case it still stands that he is disturbed enough to be recognized. He would like to give assurance but instead, he begins confiding his anxiety, fear and hope for his friend’s recovery to the Creation Legend as if his thoughts are rivers dammed by composure which are now being released to flow out of the floodgates of his mouth, further reaffirmed with occasional inputs from Pikachu. 

“So, we thought we’re going to be here for a while and see if Tonio wakes up anytime soon,” Ash eventually concludes with an involuntary breath of relief which has been held somewhere in his chest before. All these while, Arceus has been listening without interrupting, ears perked forward in a genuine show of interest and, even without clear expressions on its face, Ash can sense sympathy emanating from the Pokémon. 

Then, something _does_ actually emanate from Arceus; a thin, flimsy golden aura which winds around like smoke around him, but without the suffocating sensation when he breathes in it. Instead, he is surprised that the seemingly incorporeal emanation holds warmth akin to the gentle heat of a morning sun – a wordless consolation, he belatedly realizes, as a sense of relaxation seeps into his limbs and mind. However, a little shame steals into him when he realizes that he is being comforted of his tumults like a child by a creature with far worse worries than his own accumulated over his lifetime. 

“… Sorry that you had to hear all that.” 

If Arceus has thought of him as pathetic or in any similar vein, there is no physical evidence to support it; instead soothingly replies, _-No, do not be. If you need to let it out, then by all means, do so._

Even as Arceus says these, Ash’s anxieties has lost some of their more pressing weight after the confession. He could have had this conversation with Brock, of course, but the ordeal with Tonio has emotionally taxed them in equal measure. He has thought of saying so, to convey just how much relief Arceus has brought to him with its unlooked-for yet much-welcomed presence to serve as a fresh outlet for his distress, but words are cut off by another aura snaking its way towards him; this time, indigo instead of golden, which quickly forms into a sphere around him. However, there is not the slightest alarm to it – Ash knows what purpose this particularly coloured aura serves – even as it begins to float upwards, carrying the Trainer along to drift serenely through the air before finally settling itself between Arceus’ shoulders. 

On several occasions, he has ridden Arceus but the gesture never fails to touch him. There are other Legends who have granted him similar privileges before – Lugia and Giratina, for examples – but Arceus does not merely intend convenience whenever Ash is invited for a ride. There are also a measure of trust and possessiveness in the simple act that somehow, despite the difference, reminds Ash of hand-holding between couples who he has seen walking through parks or down the city avenues so many times before. In the company of this Legendary Pokémon, Ash is no longer worried about the receding daylight – in fact, he is not much concerned about anything else for the moment than to just sit back and enjoy the company as Arceus drifts along the trail, occasionally pausing to acknowledge a passing Pokémon’s greeting. 

“What are you doing here, anyway? Did you come to visit these guys?” He eventually breaks the silence after a Stantler, having crossed their path, bows down the antlered head in respect before disappearing into the shrubbery. Unlike Michina, Lilypad Town does not hold any relevant celebration at this time of the year to attract the Legendary Pokémon to this place, as far as he knows. 

_-On the other hand, I come to visit YOU._ If a Legendary Pokémon of its status can be credited of sounding as such, Ash is almost convinced of the anxiety in its tone. _-…but you seem to be preoccupied as it is. I rather not disturb you, so I left; or else I would have come to you myself or at least, notify you of my presence._

“So…when I see you went in here back there –?” 

_-I am aware of your presence, of course, although you seeing me is completely unintentional._

Arceus speaks indifferently, at least to other people; to Ash, its voice holds a subtle delight in being noticed after all, perhaps an unlikely turn of event after its decision to leave unseen. Its obliviousness to Ash following after it is thus justified if the Pokémon has been convinced that its company is unwanted. Even with his conspicuous Aura – Arceus has said so before, and making tracking him down easier to the Legend if it so wishes – the resignation has likely muted its perception to the surroundings. It also explains why Arceus did not inform him of its vicinity beforehand if it is already concerned of interrupting his schedule. 

It is rather satisfying to hear the longing in the normally flat-toned voice; any measure of emotional response does, coming from a creature so used to a reserved character. In fact, Ash needed to coax out more than just professional mannerism from it ever since its first private visit – part of what makes its proposal so shocking. Now, the success to do so lures him to risk a few more jabs at its stoicism by saying, “You missed me, don’t you?” 

He receives a sideway glance for it and notices the flash of its eye pointed towards him – _green irises glowing suddenly red from the lady-Arceus in his dream, angered at his uncalled-for boldness, ready to punish_ – and Ash feels an instinctive urge to scoot back but the pang of discomfort never truly does solidify into fear. The great shoulders droop a little, a sigh accompanying the gesture, and the glow in the scarlet irises are soft instead of intense if it has been fuelled by wrath. 

_-You already know the answer to that._ Its ears twitch subtly with a few seconds of uncertainty. Despite everything, Arceus is still intuitively hesitant to overcome those millennia of aloofness. He can almost imagine swirly thought-bubbles in its head before the great head shakes in defeat, apparently giving in to openness. 

_-I have never been used to synchronizing my time with an Earthling’s everyday life very closely, not even when I associated myself with Damos. Simple visits are not as easy as I imagined it first. Waiting becomes a task for me, when before I simply alter my temporal perspective._

Ash doesn’t even understand half of it when it comes to Arceus’ power and capabilities. He has heard a few times of ‘guardianship duties’ or some sort being mentioned, and assume a somewhat parallel power to Palkia’s space-warping and Dialga’s time-bending ones (he is still puzzled by Giratina and the specifics of its roles other than guarding the Reverse World… maybe Arceus’ is like that?). Still, bits and pieces stick to his mind and Ash realizes that Arceus’ remorse mostly comes from their irregular and unpredictable meetings. 

But hey, they’ll make do with what they have, right? 

“Why wait, though? You can come anytime you like, I don’t mind at all. I’ll definitely try to steal some time if I know you’re around here.” 

_-And what are you going to do if you see me when you are about to sit down with your families? Or that I happen to come when you are with your friends, or perhaps in the middle of your training? It’s easier said than done._ Arceus is still unhappy – an undercurrent of frustration running through the muscles that need not work when its levitation does all the moving – and an unhappy Arceus is really not something he wants to see. 

“Then I’ll bail out for a few minutes and at least say ‘hi’ to you.” 

He grins at the incredulous look – funny how that face can still display emotions, being rigid as it is – from Arceus, the rapidly twitching ears further conveying its surprise. Ash does not know what should have been so unbelievable about it though, and chalk it up as saying ‘hi’ is not an adequate greeting to the Original One, a theory quickly buried by the lighting up in its eyes; appreciation rather than disappointment. 

_-Persistent little human, aren’t you?_

A touch of mischief, so rarely heard that it shocks the human, leaks into the reply alongside its more-common humour. Ash cannot help but grin back. 

“I’m just saying that maybe you’re overthinking it. It won’t mean anything if you say you want me, then not coming at all.” 

But Arceus did come, didn’t it, even if not physically. He has never had a dream as vivid as the one he has in the train, and one as _exciting_ as involving him an any female whatsoever is a rare occurrence enough to make him wonder about Arceus’ involvement in it without the realistic touch to that particular dream. It takes him a considerable amount of self-control and a few throat-clearing coughs to avoid him sounding too excited. “…You know, dreams are nice and all, but it’s better with you here. And it kinda messes with my sleep a little bit.” 

At this, Arceus jerks to a stop mid-track and cranes its long neck back, to fix both eyes on Ash. _-Dreams, you say?_

“Well, yeah, last night. It’s so real, I could swear that it’s actually happening if Brock hadn’t slapped me awake.” He feels scrutinized under the naturally unblinking gaze which adds the effect of being observed that he begins to fidget involuntarily from the attention. 

_-Ash, I do NOT send you dreams whatsoever._ The eyes brighten, casting a reddish tinge to the curve and corners of Arceus’ face. _-I have enough to worry that I may interrupt your life with my presence without appearing in your sleep too._

The eyes continue to stare, not judgemental but merely curious. However, they radiate a strong intensity that he feels donning a hundred layers of cloth will still leave him with the sense of helpless nudity, like when he is being examined by doctors with nothing on but the hospital gown; clothed but exposed. 

He clears his throat, which actually has nothing to clear it from, and asks, “You don’t give me that… dream?” 

_-Not deliberately, at any rate. Perhaps a fraction of my Aura had clung to you when we interact and that MAY cause you to dream of me. However…_

Gleaming with more amusement than just simple curiosity now, Ash is suddenly aware of the prickling on the back of his neck in being stared at by those crimson eyes. If Arceus is to have a human face right now, he can well imagine an eyebrow rising in question and frown-lines appearing on the forehead. 

_-What did you dreamt of, my dear Ash?_

He should have expected the question, really, but the Pokémon’s uncanny attention is distractive enough that when Ash perceives it, he almost jumps in surprise. Hotness swells up to his cheeks whilst he struggles to maintain as calm a voice as possible. “I dreamt of you.” 

_-Naturally,_ Arceus replies amicably but with an undertone that it will not relent to the simple answer. 

“I was in the train and… and you were there. You were a human then, and I saw you sit by the window, in front of me. You said that you like the sky.” 

_-And…?_

“That’s it. You just kept looking out of the window and told me that it’s beautiful out there,” he finishes, rather proud that there is barely any stumbling that he is quite prone to whenever the conversation concerns anything more serious than being friends, so to speak. It is an affliction that plagues him ever since a girl – one that he barely knew other than her being one of his neighbours – openly admitted to having a crush on him. 

A flash of amusement in the Legend’s already bright eyes. _-Come now, Ash. You do not expect me to be so naïve, do you?_

His heart forgets to beat for a split second then resumes its pace twice as fast. To the Ketchum, his heart may have sounded as loud as drumbeats in the silence of the forest. The dream replays itself in his mind as he stares back disbelievingly into Arceus’ own eyes, waiting patiently but not infinitely so. 

What was he _thinking?_

Of course Arceus could have guessed what kind of dream he was having! He does not think that Arceus is capable of straight-up mind reading but even so, the Legendary Pokémon is perhaps sensitive enough to discern the meaning behind his Aural fluctuations, if his emerging blush is not telling enough. Ash looks down helplessly, at Pikachu curling in his lap but the rodent Pokémon shows no interest in the conversation; instead scratching the back of his ears with one of its short, stubby arms and acting as if nothing has happened – a small blessing for his already embarrassing situations. He bites down on his lower lip in nervous preparation; there will be no escaping from this situation. 

Arceus remains still, unmoving; its sight fixed singularly on the human’s sweat-sheened forehead, at the locks of hair escaping his cap. 

“…You came to me in the train and… you said that it’s not just the sky you want to see.” The words seem to thrill the Pokémon, albeit subtly so. “We were alone then. I didn’t see Brock and Pikachu anywhere, and I didn’t think too hard on that.” 

He is certainly thinking about it now, that if they have been there, his dream would have been a lot more mundane than having a Pokémon-turned-human in his lap and offering herself to him. He thought of the rarity of female actors appearing more than just as platonic characters in his dream; his first one has had Misty in it, and they are skinny-dipping in the pool of her Water-type gym with no clothes on. That had been when he was fourteen (fifteen maybe?), and he has been very curiously excited of how it turned out upon waking, and with the embarrassment to further his fidgeting. As he grew older and met more people, the cast in his sleep became varied; there was May in little else but red lingerie, with Serena in a similarly scant black clothing, both of them waiting on a bed; Dawn, in lovely little blue dress which shows her good legs and smiling coyly; Iris, surrounded by Dragons and inviting him to play save-the-damsel-in-distress; damn it, even Bianca, with the anonymity of the girl being a real girl or merely a surface-illusion of Latias, calling from a hidden garden that he knows to be in Alto Mare, in the same way some fuzzy locations in dreams are nevertheless recognizable as to their real-life counterparts. 

He is startled out of his recollections by the gentlest nudge to his cheek; warm, hard, metallic surface pushing ever so slightly against his flesh, and realizes that the gold trimming on Arceus’ forehead lies against his. Its long neck bent so far back it looks almost painful to execute despite its flexibility. Guilt instantly replaces his budding arousal, uncalled for when it comes from other than Arceus when his spouse (Wife? Husband? _Both??_ ) is right here. Ash wants to say something but nothing seems appropriate for the moment. His silence seems bound to stretch into forever until Arceus ends it for him. 

_-On the other hand, I am not so naïve that I am unable to use my imaginations._

Arceus withdraws, its gesture containing a decisive finality that nevertheless leaves Ash with cheeks that feel as if they have been set on fire. Pikachu apparently decides that it is too precious an opportunity to pass up and offer a collection of chirps and barks, amounting to something that Arceus replies to rather vaguely. 

_-Well… we shall see._

“Okay, now what are you guys up to?!” 

_-Merely a suggestion that perhaps a… practical approach is called for._

“…What’s that supposed to mean?” 

_-It means that it can wait for another time, since the sun is now setting,_ it says suddenly and in a decidedly inappropriate casualness that throws Ash into a momentary confusion at this unremarked change in their conversation. The Ketchum would have pursued the abandoned topic if not for Arceus making an unwarned turnaround that forces Ash to hold on to the neck before him. 

Being obscured behind them previously, Ash has only now realized how late it has been. Despite the initial disappointment, Ash’s desire to comment on the blatant topic-changing gives way to slight worry as he notices the sun which nearly straddles the horizon by now, its fading light creating warm gold-and-orange shades alongside the growing shadows in the forest surrounding them. Perhaps less than half an hour of daylight remains, its thin shafts of light shines feebly through the gaps in the trees; Brock would start worrying in his absence sooner or later. Though no longer in danger of falling off, Ash decides that his query can wait for some other time, and leans into the back of the Legend’s neck for what remaining comfort that can be gained. 

The Legend speaks even less now and drifts on in silence, past the spot which Ash recognizes to be where they have met earlier, until he can see the lights from the motel glimmering between the sparse trees at the edge of the forest. In broad daylight, Arceus may have been seen, being so close to human settlement but the darkness has settled thickly enough in the forest to conceal its presence. Here, Arceus sets them down with its indigo sphere, and lets Pikachu touch its nose to the gold ridging on its forehead as a goodbye. 

The red gaze then shifts on to the Ketchum next. He meets it equally, feeling an odd but understandable sensation of being examined right to the very core. He finds that he does not mind it at all, perhaps even liking it a little. 

_-Until we meet again, Ash. My best wishes to your friend Tonio, as well._

He stills himself to be brushed by the point of its forehead, feeling his hair rustles up in the soft touch. As Arceus withdraws though, a sudden urge makes him raise up his hands and catch the retreating head by the lower jaw. His comparatively puny strength would not even budge the Legend logically but Arceus willingly allows itself to be lowered down to his eye-level and submits its cheek to the human’s goodbye kiss, planted near the green circle under its left eye. 

“Come again, will ya?” His hand wanders around, stroking the white furs that border the darker ones on its face; it is as fine as a Swanna’s down and whiter than that, especially when observed this closely. His touch continues uninterrupted for a few more seconds before Arceus returns with a kiss of its own – or at least, as close to it as it can, pressing the dip in its facial structure against his cheek. 

_-But of course. Now go, before I decide otherwise._

Ash does leave but reluctantly so. Perhaps Arceus will descend from its hall more frequently now, seeing that they are no longer ‘just’ friends but the thoughts of the weeks and months which went by between one visit to the next through their years of acquaintance makes him less convinced of the optimism. His last glance towards the forest reveals little else but the deepening shadows, and not a speck of white to be seen among the lines of trees, leaving him with a resigning sigh. 

“I’m alright, bud,” he replies to Pikachu’s concerned purring. The Pokémon is not convinced of his claim, it seems, because he will not stop making the purring noises and cuddles even more tightly to him. The Trainer decides that he needs the attention after all, if only to keep him occupied. 

Of course, the thought of Arceus with a Holocaster is ridiculous enough to even be considered, but it still leaves Ash wanting to have some sort of personalized means of communication with the Legendary Pokémon than having to resort to Sheena to do it for him. The irony does not escape him that he already misses seeing the Legend when it was strange to him, when he had been younger, that people seemed to not be getting enough when being with their boyfriends or girlfriends. 

For now though, his only choice is to wait and hope that it would not take Arceus too long to come back.


	7. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is taking a less stressing turn for Ash with Tonio finally recovering from his mysterious illness.

_She doesn’t change much_ is what comes to Ash’s mind when he sees her; still sturdy despite her age, with little signs of slowing down from her lifelong works. No one would even remotely comment on her height when her eyes shine with authority, as Ash can very well testify when she walks right up to him and addresses him directly. 

“Ash Ketchum.” Her call is followed by her hands, which he shakes. The skin is rough and callused from years of hard, laborious works, but strength resides in the fingers. “I’m surprised but I couldn’t be gladder that you’re here.” 

“We were terribly worried when we didn’t hear for him,” the frighteningly tall woman behind her adds. Long blonde hair ripples like golden silk as she moves her head in a resigning shake. “But at least, he’s safe now.” 

Standing close together, the familial resemblance between Professor Carolina and Cynthia are even more pronounced than they usually are. The Professor’s confident gaze are reflected in her granddaughter’s, but still Cynthia holds a slightly different feel to her bearings; while the younger woman will tempt her competitors into showing off before revealing her superiority, the older one is straightforward and stern, a warrior who brooks no argument. However, she is far from being a physical fighter – rather, Professor Carolina, almost always seen in her white scientist coat, is the leading researcher of Sinnoh Legendary Pokémon and has established extensive surveillance programs on significant sites. A driven person, she is naturally proud of her granddaughter and rightfully so when Cynthia is hailed as one of the greatest Pokémon Trainer there is in the century. This Ash knows with chilling accuracy – her prowess in Pokémon battles has earned and defended her champion title of Sinnoh League for the longest time among any regional champion, whom he has to fight for in order to conquer said league. He has, not without SERIOUS difficulties (serious as in, knocking out five out of his six Pokémon), defeated her, but Ash decides to hold claim only for the achievement rather than the title. 

“We’re supposed to meet him for our research presentations. However, it became clear that something is wrong when we heard nothing of him since he departed from Alamos, a week ago.” Professor Carolina explains, resolving the baffled look on Ash’s face. She also tells them it is from Alice that they came to know Tonio’s fate, knowing that her fiancé has initially left to confer with Professor Carolina. 

“We’re not entirely sure what happened to him though,” Brock adds after shaking hands with both women as Ash does. 

Said Tonio is visible from behind the glass panel overlooking into his personal ward, still unconscious but no longer looks as if he has been drained of blood. He may have been merely sleeping if not for the monitor beeping at steady rhythm at his side, measuring heartbeats that are no longer few in between. Beside his bed, sits a worried-looking Alice, her fingers stroking through his pale hair as if the gestures will somehow awaken her fiancé. She barely left his side since she arrived at the hospital, having flown immediately to Lilypad Town from her home once the hospital has contacted her about Tonio’s situations. 

“They say that he’s bound to wake up anytime soon,” Ash conveys the message that the nurse whom they have consulted upon delivering Tonio, Cherry, had said earlier this morning. 

Their conversation is broken when Alice exits the ward to join the group. She also changes little since Ash last seen her in Alamos, all those years ago. A simple gold band adorns her right ring finger to proof his engagement with her childhood friend, which she now twirls around semi-consciously in her anxiety. 

“Thank you for coming, everyone,” she begins but her next words fail her when she glances into the ward. Cynthia tactfully steers her aside and to sit on a waiting bench nearby, murmuring something that Ash cannot hear but doubtlessly to intend comfort for Alice. 

Ash shifts his attention away from the pair and says to Professor Carolina instead: “You’re saying about result presentations, Professor?” 

“Nothing extraordinary, actually,” she shakes her head dismissively for emphasis. “Aside from video conference, we routinely meet to summarize our findings to each other.” 

Professor Carolina elaborates that she has recruited Tonio as a sort of collaborator to her research, owing to his exceptional talents for quantum physics and his arsenals of research equipment greatly aiding their efforts. With Alamos Town witnessing serial energy radiations ever since its space-tearing from the battles between Dialga and Palkia – a healing scar, as she puts it – Tonio has been appointed to monitor the fluctuations in the town and nearby areas, just like her other scientists posted at the Sinnoh lakes which house the Lake Guardians. 

“Understandably, their signature energy radiations have plummeted in frequency ever since the accident at Mount Coronet,” she concludes, referring to the event in which the Space-Time Duo has been briefly captured by Team Galactic. Professor Carolina shows a clear disgust at the memory which Ash and Brock can relate to perfectly well; even as himself, his sympathy for Pokémon makes it hard to watch the two powerful beings being made as toys to a madman with a white elephant’s dream. To feel the dreads and pain while being emphatically bonded to the Lake Guardians made it all the more horrifying when their powers were manipulated to enslave their comrades. 

All these while, Cynthia is still consoling her companion although Alice no longer looks so distressed. A few more words between them and Alice nods her head and hugs the Champion heartily. Thus comforted, Alice approaches them once again; now able to smile, despite holding a sadness in the gesture. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, directly addressing Ash and Brock this time. “I haven’t thanked you for saving Tonio… I wouldn’t know what would happen if you two didn’t found him…” 

She eventually invites them all into the ward; they follow her steps carefully and respectfully as if sounds themselves can affect his fragile state. They are as silent as they can, yet the moment the group files into the clean, medicine-smelling room, Tonio moves ever so slightly – in fact, so insignificant is his movement, they fail to realize that his fingers are twitching in response to some unknown stimuli. They only notice this as Alice comes around the bed and sees the crumpled bed sheet under his hands…and the weakly grasping fingers as they try to hold on to something. 

“He’s waking up!” 

She gasps but of course this is merely exaggeration from her hope; but the rest of them react to her nevertheless, with Brock quickly hitting the button to summon a nurse. Ash and the other women stay clear away as one nurse hurries inside and begins her procedural checking. Tonio’s movements are more evident by now; his hands do indeed clench, so tightly that the knuckles turn white and behind his mask, they can clearly see the mouth open and close with each laborious breath. For all that, his body remains still – a puzzle that the nurse struggles to solve until, with no explanations seemingly, the ailing scientist grows calmer, his heartbeats beeping from the monitor slows down to what they are before. That dream-like appearance returns to his face with only a few drops of sweats to prove his previous struggle. They all stand in silence, even the nurse, as a new shock numbs them from reactions when Tonio’s eyes slowly reveal themselves behind the opening eyelids and he croaks to them in a voice as dry as rainless desert: 

“…Water…please...” 

  


  
*****

  


The Legend eventually decides to leave when its thoughts refuse to be calmed. 

Meditations prove to be woefully inadequate when its mind frequently returns to the same spot where it begins. It is not the fault of the constructs of Hall of Origin though. The Alpha Legend stands alone in the silence of its abode, peering around at the pure white walls enclosing the space and at the artificial sky which spreads under its hooves, and discovers that, while this place is built and designed to induce tranquillity and a peace of mind, for the time being, solitude brings about pure, unadulterated urge to act beyond what it firmly believes as appropriate. 

_Patience,_ Arceus chides itself even as its hoof strains against its will to paw against the transparent floor. Imbued with the Original One’s power, the glass-like tiles are not likely to be marred but the behaviour itself is too immature to its liking. 

The Earthly Realm calls to it – or rather, a mortal’s presence in there does. The thing about a Legendary Creature is that its dedication can be so strong, even daunting, that most of them are willing to be attached only to their duties. A mortal, a human no less, will likely find this unwavering devotion slightly too constricting when applied to personal relationships – even now, Arceus’ more impulsive part gnaws at it with relentless annoyance which goads for a dimensional portal be opened on Earth. 

_What is wrong in paying him another little visit?_

_See if his mind has changed, or if he is more receptive now._

Instead, Arceus forces its portal to open to a shadowy, star-spanning darkness; a place far beyond the reach of humanity for generations to come. Silence reigns with isolation, devoid of even breathing sounds; Arceus’ Type Plates provide the Legend energy to be alive where breathing creatures cannot thrive. Distant stars become tiny lanterns in the background, burning with lights from moon-white to sullen red. Nearer – for a given measure of ‘near’ – is an attraction with more recognizable features than those faraway dots of light: A swath of nebula, cloud-like in appearance but glowing warmly from within, an ember in the deep darkness it is set against. Even at this stellar distance it still dwarfs the Legend in its sheer, mind-boggling massiveness, its many facets tinted in fantastic shades of forest green, tangerine, marigold, deep crimson, and every other hue imaginable – a cosmic cradle where stars are born from humble dust accumulations. The Legend senses many pinpricks of energy radiating from within which, in time, will grow into brilliant suns and shine through the darkness in this corner of the universe. 

The contemplation, usually amusing to the Legend, brings about a quiet unease this time. Arceus may yet live through the distant millennia and see the future stars shed their first lights someday, but uncountable generations of mortals (if even Earth itself still yet exists then) would come and go before that happens. With them, its newfound mate will die too – the sweet and lively Ash, always with laughter behind his lips, growing old and dying, his mortal body turning to dust in a span of time which Arceus previously deems trivial before. Such unhappy thoughts are unfortunately common these days, a subtly growing distress which Arceus cannot seem to block out of its mind. 

_-Beautiful, isn’t it?_

This new voice is perplexing for a fraction of a second before Arceus realizes that it is not as alone as it previously assumed with a blue-glowing portal forming nearby. Its sculptor – and doubtlessly the owner of the interrupting voice – does not yet fully emerge from it, showing only the stocky, sturdy front-quarter that is nevertheless unmistakably Dialga’s. The rest of the Timekeeper follows afterwards, finally coming to hover at Arceus’ side though still keeping a respectful distance a few paces back from the Master’s position. 

Arceus senses the agitation from its Guardian of Time. Its uncanny arrival, mere seconds after Arceus, perhaps speak more plainly of its wish to meet the Original One out of its personal realm. Undeniably curious, Arceus nevertheless chooses not to be the initiator. In the silence and solitude, Dialga’s telepathic voice is the only sound to be heard in the remoteness of space: 

_-The nebula will give birth to many beautiful stars. Some will have remnants enough to form planets and escort their wanderings… but none would sustain life._

The information comes as no surprise to the Creation Master. Prophetic insights, sometimes without conscious promptings, are another blessing to the Lord of Time, making physical trips along the spectrum of the time flow rarely a necessity. The silence continues from Arceus, heavy with yet unspoken intention. 

_-I do not suppose that you HAVE to come here to see it, do you?_

_-Perhaps not._ The gleam of hook in the bait is obvious but Arceus can see that the tip is not harmfully sharp. _-The sky in my hall can be enchanted to show what I wish._

_-But you come anyway._

_-YOU come with purpose, Dialga. Speak your concern._

The hook can catch but Arceus, never a victim but a willing participant, can always wiggle free if it so wishes. However, Dialga’s presence raises no malicious intention but rather an inquisitive nature in its bearing. 

_-You are worried,_ Dialga ventures cautiously when Arceus’ benign silence clearly allows for further prodding. 

_-Have I not usually?_

_-For others, for the worlds under your guardianship; yes. But rarely for yourself._ Dialga hesitates, merely for a fraction of second in reality but enough to merit further attention. _-That human mate of yours…_

Again, Arceus is not terribly surprised that the Ketchum becomes the topic of their conversation though secretly dismayed that it is still brought up. Of its three Dragons, Dialga has come across as the most suspicious of Arceus’ dealings than the rest. 

_-Do you wish to retract your blessing?_

Dialga reacts to the inquiry as if it is being issued a threat, jerking back from Arceus’ advance as the Master comes to directly face it. Arceus is not easily roused to anger but in the Timekeeper’s mind, the alternate memories of itself standing futilely with Palkia and Giratina in defence of Michina remains a deeply-nested terror that warns against leniency. 

_-No,_ the Timekeeper says quickly, and Arceus senses truth in it despite the fear. _-If you would have a human for a mate, then he at least has proven himself worthy of it. Furthermore, my opinions matter not in this subject._

It comes down to Dialga’s distrust of humans after all, Arceus realizes, though perhaps a little strange that the Timekeeper would trust Sheena enough to occasionally answer her requests. Then again, Arceus has allowed itself friendship with her one of her ancestors – both of whom are trustworthy in their own rights and granted with the abilities to communicate with Magical Creatures like no one else can. If malice is ever thought of, it can be swiftly read from their very hearts. 

Then, there is this Ash Ketchum. 

In a way, Dialga’s uneasiness is one that Arceus can sympathize with. Some Legends manage to make do with temporary flings to satisfy their occasional desire for companionship, platonic or otherwise – even Arceus itself found the former in Damos and his people, but never the latter before. Its loneliness, its refusal for anything more than just friendship, is chosen rather than forced upon and made for a fierce internal struggle for years once Arceus begins to yearn for Ash’s presence. The matters were still pondered over long after Arceus recognized without doubt of what it wished out of him – no matter how much it would like to deny, every Legend possesses shreds of vanity in themselves no matter how minuscule it may be. That same vanity in Arceus chided itself for a consort in a mortal, commoner human before Arceus could find the resolve to ignore its unwanted ego and descended to Earth. 

It was, to put it simply, insanity. 

Dialga seems to be immersed in wonderings of its own throughout the short lull. When it speaks again, it is in a faintly resigned tone of someone giving up on a long-thought argument: _-Forgive me. I do not come to try changing your mind, Arceus._

Its tone carries a too-specific denial to be a little suspicious but Arceus graciously chooses to be deaf to it, letting Dialga to continue uninterrupted. 

_-But I will not lie, Arceus,_ Dialga’s eyes make frequent darts to the Original One, gauging whether its irresponsiveness is one of severity or otherwise, and resumes itself when it finds Arceus to be quite at peace. _-Humans have hearts which may too easily turn; the youthful ones are even more so._

It fails to strike the centre but the remark hits uncomfortably close still; sufficiently close to graze Arceus’ conscience. Infidelity is not the actual cause of concern to Arceus, not with this human, but with every tiny expression of unease from him, the Legend’s fear of being left in favour of a more conventional human spouse grows. He has quite brazenly addressed the Legend as a friend initially but to make the leap to a mate is apparently a difficult thing to grasp for a human – or perhaps it is the Ketchum’s personal little quirks. Either way, no matter what assurance it gives to the human, there will always be this lurking fear, paranoia almost, that their difference will lessen the Legend’s appeal in Ash’s eyes until nothing is left to make him stay. 

However, little can be gained if Arceus reveals as much to the Lord of Time. Calmly, it says instead, _-I already have his promise to be mine._

A human would have raised an eyebrow sceptically; lacking that feature, Dialga flicks the tip of its tail in circles to convey the same meaning. _-I have not sensed enough of your Aura on him, Arceus._

Arceus regards the other’s unbridled straightforwardness with something of a wonder before finding its voice to reply, _-For now, it is enough._

_-It stands,_ Dialga’s tail twitches more agitatedly to match its voice, _-that you still have to claim him truly, and soon._

As blatant and abrupt as the suggestion is, sex is hardly a topic that the Original One finds embarrassing, more so that they are now talking about the ritualistic mating which formalizes two individuals as mates. The physical act in itself does not bother it but Dialga’s suggestion brings to surface the revulsion of doing so – with or without the consent of its partner. There are times – unexpected and unlooked for – when its Hall of Origin is overwhelmed with dreadful silence, and when its mind left to roam unrestrained, that brings a treacherous little voice which whispers the malignant counsel and makes it perversely appealing. 

_-I cannot force anything upon him,_ it says, tasting phantasmal bitterness in the back of its throat. That its mind is even capable to sink to that shameful lows horrifies it to no end, and that bile-taste is the manifestation of that deep-seated disgust. 

_-You are being too proper._

-I _am being considerate._

_-It may be so,_ Dialga says in tonal equivalent of shoulder-shrugging, _-but the Master of the Creation should not allow itself an unnecessary inconvenience._

_-I will wait, Dialga._ Arceus’ speech is unperturbed and gentle, suggesting that this is a choice willingly made and that whatever inconvenience that may arise from it is worth enduring. On a more personal level, the waiting is like a balm to its private dismay, having realized that it has acted only scantly better than an adolescent Creature experiencing its first mating heat. 

Dialga eventually leaves with the tip of its tail still waving in its agitated orbit, yet no more persuasive arguments are being offered. Arceus’ mental farewell goes with it, and the Timekeeper’s kind reply reaches the Master Legend as its portal vanishes from existence. Left alone once again, Arceus returns its stare to the nebula-cloud – still glowing unconcernedly as it trudges through the immeasurable future, nursing the would-be stars with glacial steadiness – but its eyes are lost in its inner world. 

For a long time, the Original One remains lost. There, it basks in the celestial beauty around it, in the calming peace and solitude of being here, heedless of the passing time. 

  


  
*****

  


Ash is still holding the sandwiches and trying to chew through the tastelessness, and finds it a task not worth taking. Pikachu is curled in his lap, snoring peacefully, aware of little in his sleep. Brock has given up long before him; has declared the sandwich as his dinner tasted little better than the Saran wrap it came wrapped in, and was gone himself. Professor Carolina is resting in the motel room that she and her daughter have booked for themselves, two rooms away from Ash and Brock’s, having professed her need of some rest and proceeded to do so. Cynthia, meanwhile, is standing almost dazedly by the coffee machine and stirring her cup without much thoughts put into it, her eyes distant. 

Then, suddenly, the Sinnoh Champion opens her mouth. “He recovers quickly. Very, very quickly.” 

Ash re-folds the half-eaten sandwiches and throws them into the trash bin nearby with a sigh. He looks up to the woman and follows her gaze into the ward. Pikachu’s ears twitch at the movement but he does not wake up. 

“It’s like he’s never sick at all.” Well, not really. There are still the facts that he is still skinny from near-starvation though slowly beginning to gain weight, the bruises and scrapes present all over his body are still healing. The fractured bones stay fractured, though the limbs suffering it do not seem to bother him too severely. Other than that though, Tonio looks as if he has just wakened up from sleep instead of comma three days ago; his cheeks rosy and his eyes bright, especially with Alice nearby. 

The doctors are still sceptical of his health in the long term and refuse to discharge him just yet. They have held him in the ward with close monitoring, nurses coming in for examination every few hours and so, and leaving him with various doses of pills and capsules. He takes them all in without preamble and lies back in bed, sometimes falling in short naps in between doses. When he is awake, he is reasonably talkative; his voice returns to its normal smoothness after gulping down about five glasses of water upon his awakening. 

However, the one thing which has not quite recovered is his memory. Try as he might, Tonio cannot remember why and how he ended up in the alley. The doctors inquired him futilely, for a shred of picture, for anything that remains before he lost consciousness. 

Tonio replied, repeatedly, that his last memory has been taking the blimp to go to Lilypad Town for rendezvous with Professor Carolina. 

“He’s not…having concussion or something, has he?” 

“The doctors don’t think so. Neither do I.” Cynthia takes a careful sip of her steaming coffee and makes a face at the swirly content in the paper cup. She shrugs and allows herself another sip without looking this time. 

He peers into the ward with Cynthia, taking care not to move too much to disturb Pikachu. With Tonio’s fragility in mind, their embrace looks a little awkward but no less relieving and joyful. Tonio is smiling despite himself, whispering something into Alice’s ears. The woman’s fingers play in his hair and stroke his temples, nodding to whatever it is that her fiancé is saying. With Tonio recovering, the pair is hoping to return to Alamos Town as soon as he is discharged. 

“If he’s not in critical condition, I’ll be better able to care for him at home,” she had said to Ash and Brock yesterday, her fingers clasped tenderly in Tonio’s hand as she spoke. 

“I am feeling better in any case. And the doctors said too that my memories will return soon and being where I usually live will help me, I think.” Tonio had supplied to them, smiling his usual awkward smile whenever Alice is around. 

For Ash, he could not help but feel a little worried about the couple travelling together unattended – one a newly-awakened man and the other a woman, while not helpless, has rarely ventured outside her hometown and with minimal interest in Pokémon training for battles, the both of them possibly facing whoever that was which caused Tonio ending up in the hospital. Ash feels a sudden, unexpected stroke of jealousy at the memories and the current sight of them together. He wonders briefly if he will be taken care of if he falls sick. Arceus does not strike him as the nursing type despite its apparent affection, which is another absurd thought along an equally absurd thought that he should burden the Pokémon with the trivial things. Arceus crosses his mind quite frequently these few days, perhaps the unintended effects of its Aura when they met last week. Sometimes, he is annoyed by the subtle interruptions. At other times, the feelings are the complete opposite. Right now though, he considers how nice it will be if he can snuggle up to it, warm himself in its silky fur – the hospital corridor is a little chillier above his comfort zone. He shivers from the cold and begins stroking Pikachu absent-mindedly, distracted by his warmth. 

Brock suddenly appears then, his steps loud in the silence of the hallway as he walks towards Ash and Cynthia. A plastic bag, bulging with rectangular contents, is held gingerly in one hand. 

“The hell did you go to?” Ash inquires – or intends to inquire, more precisely, before he finds himself towered over by Brock standing in front of him. The other man produces a lunch-box from inside the plastic bag and places it on the empty seat beside the Ketchum. 

“Spaghetti meatballs with tomato sauce and basil. Figured that I’ll better cook something up rather than swallow that plastic sandwich.” His eyes dart to the trash bin, recognizing the tip of Ash’s half-eaten sandwiches. “Hope you still like Brock’s home cooking. Too bad if you don’t.” 

He knocks on the ward’s door and lets himself in; when he comes out again, the plastic bag holds two lunch-boxes less than the amount he carried when entering. The last one he offers to Cynthia, which she accepts with much gratefulness. She sits down on one of the occupied seats beside Ash and digs into her much more appealing dinner. Steam rises gently from the opened box, carrying the aroma of well-cooked meat and the sweet-savoury scent of tomato to Ash and makes his mouth water immediately. Still minding his sleeping Pokémon, Ash carefully picks up his own box and spoons the sauce-drenched spaghetti strands into his mouth, chewing heavenly as if he has not tasted anything so good for some time. In a way, that is actually kind of true. 

He finishes his dinner in a short time with Brock, having only started on his own, watches with a look of mixed pride and disapproval at his eating manners before deciding to let it pass. Just as his well-cared Pokémon testify to his Pokémon-related knowledge, the dinner he provides proves Brock to be as adept as ever, if not more so, with his cooking skills. Cynthia is more covert in her eating than Ash is although she does eat with more gusto than she normally does, fuelled by her hunger. 

“I don’t think we can stay long here,” she says after a few quiet seconds of chewing. This declaration shocks the two men from their own silence. 

“Why not?” 

“I don’t mean that we have to scram right now,” Cynthia says, relieving the puzzlement on their faces. “But Grandma – I mean, Professor Carolina – and I will be leaving soon. She has left headquarter for longer than we thought. Besides –” 

Pikachu suddenly wakes up at this, perhaps roused by the tantalizing smell wafting from the lunch-boxes. This interrupts them for a few seconds as Ash spoons out a good portion of his spaghetti dinner and sets it aside on a spare plate that Brock has brought along. Pikachu tucks into his meal with as much enthusiasm as Ash. That done, the Trainer urges Cynthia to continue, and she does. 

“The Professor is about to initiate a new project. You’ve heard her saying that Dialga and Palkia’s energy radiations are decreasing – she hoped to gather more readings by constructing receiving towers at strategic places around Sinnoh.” At the slightly blank look shown on Ash’s face, she cannot help her chuckles. “Think of radio towers, only these are for picking up the Legendary Pokémon’s transmissions.” 

“Only radiations from Dialga and Palkia?” This question comes from Brock. 

“The Lake Guardians as well although we mostly depend on our scientists stationed at the three lakes to monitor them. We already have Newton Graceland tracking Giratina; only his instrument can pick up its presence.” 

Brock and Ash are already aware of Cynthia’s interest in Pokémon myths and legends, especially those hailing from Sinnoh. It seems perfectly natural for her to be so deeply involved in her grandmother’s researches and projects even if she mostly busies herself with the duties and responsibilities of a regional Champion. The Celestic Town Historical Research Centre, Professor Carolina’s institute building in Celestic Town, has become her home nearly as much as it is to the older woman; even taking on a self-volunteered role of chaperoning her grandmother whenever she can. 

“I, for one, am interested to see what the towers will show us. I have been able to see Dialga and Palkia with my very own eyes, although I did not wish to see them caught like that,” she says suddenly, almost too suddenly, but with dreaminess that suggests the thoughts to have been on her mind for some time. “I wonder… if luck would have it, that I will ever see Giratina or… or Arceus itself in my lifetime.” 

Ash chokes on his latest bite on the spaghetti and has to be promptly rescued by a few powerful thumps to the back from Brock. 

*

Cynthia takes her leave soon after she is finished with her meal, informing that she is getting too tired to stay awake. Alice declines her offer to share their rooms and insists on staying with Tonio. Thus, it leaves Brock and Ash to themselves before they too decide to retreat to their own room. Stuffed full and quite ready to go to sleep, Ash is taken by surprise when Brock asks him the question as they walk down the roadside back to the motel, the yellow-orangey streetlights glow sullen along it. 

He says, “What’s the deal with Arceus, anyway?” 

Miraculously, Ash manages not to choke this time – probably because he is not stuffed on food. Yet, when he tries to be sound cool, his voice sounds a tad too thin, “Uh… What?” 

Even Pikachu, having grown drowsy again from his interrupted sleep and satisfied belly, decides that his sleep is less worth entertaining than the budding conversation between his Trainer and Brock. His eyes are wide awake, reflecting lights from the city on their black surfaces; his long ears cocked towards Brock to better hear him. 

“Arceus.” Brock repeats calmly, like someone trying to explain the obvious to someone who is prone to confusion. “You were in Michina right around the Harvest Festival. Then, Arceus freaking showed up for real there, and you went right on talking to it – her, whatever – like it was nothing. I’m also going to assume that when you mumbled ‘Alice’ in your sleep these few nights, you weren’t going about Tonio’s girl. And don’t you think I didn’t realize it when Cynthia was talking.” 

Each of those evidence feels to Ketchum like when he is strapped to some rickety board and has knives thrown to him by some blindfolded guy, each blade striking the board and missing his flesh by a scant inch. He draws a deep breath but what comes out of him is only a dumbfounded “…Arceus?” 

“Come on, man. You know I know you know what I’m talking about.” 

That is a little bit too confusing to ponder at this moment so Ash sticks to the simple Arceus matters. “Yeah, yeah… sorry. It’s just, uh, weird to talk about it, you know?” 

It seems that Brock is prepared to let go of the discussion, pretends that it is never brought up in the first place – and it is exactly what gets it to Ash. They are talking about the Original One supposedly having interest in him and Brock is willing to ignore it if Ash does not feel like talking; that kind of tolerance and patience hint more than enough of his trustworthiness – and if Brock is considered lacking, nobody else can be trusted with his little secret. 

He glances around at his surroundings: the streets are not completely empty but what few pedestrians there are, are not so close as to hear them talking. Besides, they will be further protected by the noises of passing vehicles in the rather unlikely event of someone wanting to eavesdrop on them. He stares as Pikachu questioningly and the beetle-black eyes stare right back, speaking to him without need of words or voice: _Why not?_

“Uh, so…this might sound a bit weird…” 

“I’ve heard plenty of weird things, you know. Try me.” 

How about Arceus-kinda-got-the-hots-for-me-and-I-said-yes-anyway weird? Ash bemuses but does not say it out loud. Brocks’s focused, yet unalarmed, look points to encouraging development rather than the opposite, solidifying Ash’s initially shaky resolve. In any case, Brock did have his shares of seeing, experiencing and hearing miraculous, stunning or just downright silly stuffs, just not one which involves a Pokémon and a human together in this way. Maybe. 

It may have been a really, really bad idea springing it up on Brock like that. Truth to be told, Ash is not exactly thinking about it then when the sudden flash of reckless bravery makes him blurt out, “Well… Arceus and me… we’re sort of in the, uh, bird-and-bees things, you know?” 

Brock stares at him as if he has just declared that Earth is just really a flat piece of land. Well, at least there is no danger of him choking on his food out of shock right now. “Do you even know what ‘birds and bees’ mean, Ash?” 

“I know, and I’m being really serious right now, I’m not drunk or high on anything, nobody has hit me in the head and I’m not imagining things.” 

He can see Brock’s mouth opening to offer a more reasonable explanation for his confession but finds nothing more to say. His mouth shuts slowly, his lips pressed together until they appear pale from lack of blood. His brain chews on the implications; his eyes are squinted like they usually are but the frown on his forehead are as severe as Ash has ever seen it. They have stopped walking by now; instead facing each other although Ash cannot quite hold his eyes on Brock. That quietness between them is heavy, maddeningly still, and seems to enhance his senses to abnormal sensitivity. Ash can smell the faint scent on burnt fuel with each passing vehicle, heard the rough barks of a Herdier somewhere nearby though he does not see the Pokémon itself. It is perhaps the longest half-a-minute he ever experienced in his life. 

Thirty seconds later, though it felt more like 3 hours for Ash, Brock says, “…Well.” 

“Yeah.” At least, Brock does not display the drastic response that Ash comes to dreadfully expect. Not yet anyway. 

“When you said the birds and bees… you really mean, like ‘like’?” 

“Yep.” 

“Boyfriend-girlfriend like? I-love-you-you-love-me like? Romeo-and-Juliet, Beauty-and-the-Beast like?” 

“You betcha.” 

“That’s pretty… I did NOT expect that.” 

“I know.” 

“So… you’re not drunk?” 

“Honest-to-goodness sober right now.” 

Another brief pause. For that few tense moments, the Ketchum is not quite sure what to expect of Brock until he slowly and cautiously murmurs, “…in retrospect, I shouldn’t be surprised.” 

Pikachu, having kept his silence all the while, simultaneously lets out a chirp as confused as Ash’s “Oh?” to this unexpected statement. 

“You’re always the one who believes about treating Pokémon as equal; no wonder they receive you in kind,” Brock resumes, weighing his words with extra carefulness as he casts his mind about the topic. “I remember that Haunter who kept following you; your Bayleef and Gliscor; even that Alto Mare Latias took to you quickly enough… but –” 

“ – but not Arceus, huh?” 

They are walking again, slowly but steadily, and not caring where they are heading to. He realizes suddenly that he is breathing again; does not even realize that he has waited Brock’s reply with his inhalation stuck halfway in his throat until he feels the cool night air rushing into his lungs. Ash’s senses are again returned to normal and the Herdier’s barking are lost in the rumbles of engines, in the pleasant buzz of chatting people. 

“Not with Arceus,” Brock agrees. “I thought, you know, maybe you’ve been meeting Arceus to ask favours or something, but not this.” 

Ash secretly admits that he would have thought so too if their positions were reversed, and it is not entirely on Arceus why their relationship seems impossible to be thought of. Ash likes girls – some boys too, maybe – and he is the last to admit being a saint, but for one reason or another he never expressed any strong interest in his friends and companions, or not for very long. 

“Since when?” 

“We’ve met for some years now but I didn’t really say ‘yes’ until two… three weeks ago.” 

Brock nods thoughtfully. “Around the time we’re in Michina.” 

“I really didn’t know that Arceus could turn into a human, though.” He sees the Alpha Pokémon in his mind’s eye; as ‘Alice’, with long flowing hair and in simple white blouse and pants, gold-trimmed at the edge, the wheel-brooch gleaming upon her chest. 

“You didn’t?” 

“Yeah, it’s weird when I think about it now.” He laughs nervously, not knowing why he laughed or why he is feeling nervous. “I mean, who would have thought that I’ll agree BEFORE I knew it can do that? I was just as shocked to see her at the festival like that.” 

“Not really. I mean, I’ve heard of people falling for Pokémon – and that's why I thought it’s not so far-fetched that you’ll end up with one too.” 

It is Ash’s turn to be puzzled now. “Really?” 

“It’s really, really uncommon but not unheard of. To be specific, I DID come across a rumour of a man with his Gardevoir. There’s also this girl who decided to be with her Blaziken than the ass of her boyfriend,” the ex-gym leader replies, sounding much more himself than when Ash first spilled the beans to him. In fact, he looks almost unfazed except for the few lines lingering on his face, remnant of his earlier frowning. “As for me, I don’t have anything against it. Anyone who has been with Pokémon will realize that they are not mindless, unthinking creatures even if we don’t understand what they’re saying most of the time.” 

Ash nods, understanding, as his brain makes a quick recollection of the instances where Pokémon have shown their comprehension of human language. The Larvitar which he had befriended during his journey just before the Silver Conference comes to mind, and a newly-hatched one at that. Psychic-able Pokémon can extend the limit to talking, even if telepathically, and Meowth of the Team Rocket talks like it is nobody’s business whatsoever – and being a good deal snarky to boot. Even if a Pokémon does not physically capable of speech, it is quite impossible to ignore other signs of sentience and intelligence to a degree – which makes it all the sadder that there are people who treated their Pokémon merely as battling instrument. 

“What about Ditto?” 

“Don’t get me started on that one,” Brock speaks solemnly. Having been thoughtless in asking it, Ash is actually glad that he does not receive an answer. 

They have reached the part of the town where it can be considered Lilypad’s suburbs. Tall buildings are scarce; the landscapes are dominated by neat, orderly whitewashed houses with green, well-cared lawns and driveways connecting each of them to the main road. Those with green fingers have little flower gardens tucked in a corner of their yards; some have swings instead, and still others have kiddy playgrounds with plastic slides and kennel-sized playhouse. Though a few still have lights shining out of their windows, most of them are dark and quiet, the people inside soundly asleep. Up ahead, they can see the silhouettes of their motel building in the distance, the few lighted windows like beacons at sea; rectangular stars on the dark, barely-visible building. The part where their rooms are – as well as that which Cynthia and Professor Carolina occupy – remain almost as dark as the motel’s surrounding. The forest it overlooks, the forest where he has met Arceus, are darker still, seemingly solid shadows echo with the many voices and noises of wood-living Pokemon. 

“You know,” Brock mutters out of the blue, mildly startling Ash out of his wandering thoughts, “Cynthia will set her Garchomp on you if she knew that they’ve been breaking sweats studying the Legendary Pokémon, with all the receiving towers and what-nots, and here you’re actually dating one of them.” 

Ash cannot help his laugh. “I better not tell her then. I like myself in one piece, thank you very much.”


	8. So Long and Thanks II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ash finally decides that it is time to say goodbye to Sinnoh and his friends. Meanwhile, Brock is going to accompany Alice and Tonio, while Cynthia and Professor Carolina returns to their studies.

Ash is standing at the base of a gangway and staring up at the medium-sized ocean liner that it is connected to, a hand stuck above his head to shield his eyes from the sun to make out the bright, striking red letters which spell out _Red Gyarados_ at the front of the wave-washed hull – a rather ironic name considering that the ship itself is mostly light blue. A group of people hiking up the short gangway jostles him to the side, dragging their heavy luggage behind them. The ticket inspector struggling to keep up with the flow coincidentally catches Ash’s gaze upon him and tips his hat apologetically for the inconvenience before more tickets are being presented to him by new arrivals. Ash kindly pays them no mind and shifts his focus back to Brock, who is standing beside him and talking with Pikachu on his shoulder. 

“You sure you’re gonna be alright?” 

“Don’t worry. Besides, we have our Pokémon with us, remember? If we need to kick asses, we’ll do just fine.” Tonio has insisted about as many times as Alice has expressed her worries that the incident is has been a simple case of the robber chickening out in his robbery and leaving his victim in the alley. Though no longer a gym leader, Ash doubts that anyone can pose a legitimate threat to Tonio and Alice with Brock to see about their security. 

Fortunately, Tonio has not been as weak as when they found him in the alley. Throughout the week since his awakening, he has recovered to considerable health: he steadily gains back his lost pounds and eats only wholesome food prepared by either the hospital or Alice (the latter overseen by Brock). He never misses taking his medication, fully cooperating with the doctors and nurses as well as doing everything he is told. His efforts show: the doctor-in-charge is happy (or at least, not so anxious) to let him out of the hospital by the end of the week. In any case, Ash would not have left if Brock has not secured himself to accompany the couple until they are safely back home: he has shared Ash’s worry in letting the two unguarded after what has happened to Tonio. In the face of things, the Ketchum thought that his addition will only be an unnecessary redundancy – hence his reason to return to Kanto. 

The news of his sudden decision has been received with a collective surprise from the assemblage of Brock, Cynthia, Professor Carolina, Alice and Tonio in the ward yesterday morning, considering that it is Professor Carolina who has been anxious to return to her long-overdue work. In fact, her being able to leave work for a week is near-miracle in itself considering her full schedule, always hurrying from one place to another, following trails of historical artefacts as faithfully as any Arcanine will guard his Trainer. 

So it was that Ash has called goodbyes to them this morning before heading to Twinleaf Town in the company of Brock – his friend has insisted on personal farewells as far as he can go, and no amount of assurances can shake him off. Which is a fine thing as well, Ash reflects, as the sight of the ship bobbing up and down gently with the waves makes him wonder how long it will be until they’ll see each other again. 

“I guess I’ll better get going,” the Ketchum says, prompting Pikachu’s return to him with an extended arm. The Pokémon quickly does so, dashing the short distance from Brock’s shoulder to his Trainer’s in two short hops. “Stay outta trouble, okay?” 

“Hey, it’s not me who’s going off on a solo journey here!” Brock merely snorts in mock derisiveness as he hands Ash the bag-pack, along with a lunch-box containing what seems to be gorgeously huge sandwiches, much to Pikachu’s – and Ash’s – delight. The ferry does have its own café on-board, even room-dining service if one fancies a private eating, but a food offering from Brock is always worth it. 

A flock of Wingulls and a notable pair of Pelippers caw with more convincing annoyance than Brock’s staged irritation when the ferry’s air-horn blows thunderously, sending the bird Pokémon scattering into the sky in shock-fright. The passengers who are still on land then rush up the gangway in a rather hectic rush: Ash is among the last to join in the throng, warning Pikachu to hold on tight as he does. From aboard, leaning against the railing on the deck, Ash recognizes the expansive waving of hands below to be belonging to his friend despite the jetty being crowded with many more people coming here for their loved ones’ send-off. He waves back just as enthusiastically. 

Two crewmen come up to retract the gangway as _Red Gyarados_ begins to set sail with a few initial sputters of its engine before the rumbles smooth out. The tide is coming in as the ferry sets itself for the sea, the waves gently lapping the sides with breath-like sounds. The jetty and the buildings of Twinleaf Town behind it recede into small toys in his perspective. Pikachu gives an uncertain trill of longing on his shoulder as they share the view. 

“We’ll come again,” he says reassuringly, his touch accentuating the promise. His Pokémon purrs in gratitude for the comfort. 

The sun shines above them, highlighting the outlines of passing Wingulls with golden lines. Their caws gradually recede the further they sail until the only sounds are the whistling of winds and the steady murmurs of water being parted by _Red Gyarados_ ’s hull. The sky above them is a vast blue expanse with not a sign of rain in as far as the eyes can see. Most people on the promenade deck have drifted inside by now, seeking their chosen comforts – bed, food, drinks, entertainment, whichever they please. Ash chooses to stay for his Pokémon, though now they are still tucked in their Pokéballs. It is a habit that he nurtures since he was younger, when his Pokémon could still be counted on fingers. There is nothing much to do for a roaming Pokémon like Skiddo but still he unleashes the Mount Pokémon on the deck to catch some outside air, if nothing else; Skiddo immediately begins prancing about and bleating happily. Ash retrieves Talonflame’s Pokéball next and sets the Scorching Pokémon out to the wide, open sky. His outstretched wings brightly contrasting the blue background as he wheels about above them, Talonflame sends out a piercing, joyous scream as Ash lets out the Floatzel which quickly makes a dive into the sea once Ash gives the green light. He is gone under for a few seconds before bursting through the froth in a brilliant leap powered by its forked tail, chirping as happily as the rest of Ash’s Pokémon for the freedom. 

Skiddo leans against the railing beside Ash for a better view of Floatzel’s frolicking in the water. Talonflame makes a few daring swoop at the Floatzel before the sprays deter his approach, leaving the Sea Weasel Pokémon to wave-riding alone beside the ferry. Nobody notices exactly when the newcomer makes its appearance then; it is only after Talonflame attempts a second pass that his sharp eyes sight upon the large dorsal-finned silhouette which trails behind the Floatzel, and cries out a warning shriek. 

_“Pika-chu!”_ Pikachu shouts, which Ash takes to mean “Empoleon!” because that is exactly what that breaks the water’s surface behind the Floatzel. Ash watches as Floatzel’s confusion turns to alarmed curiousity, and is startled when the two immediately engage in a friendly water-spouting greeting. More surprisingly, the Empoleon actually gives a clear indication of acknowledging Ash: with two powerful strokes of its flippers, the seemingly-heavy Empoleon manages to launch itself high enough to reach the level of the deck and lets out a deep, yet friendly, honking sounds from within the barrel of its chest before crashing back into the sea. 

From somewhere in the walkway behind them, a girl’s voice can be heard shouting, “Empoleon, where are you going?!” 

Ash discovers that he is not wholly unfamiliar to the voice and whirls around to have his guess confirmed as the shouter emerges from the side corridor. He recognizes her instantly; there is no mistaking her cheerful face, the sweet smile and the eyes, lively despite being the shade of a raincloud. 

“Hey, Dawn!” 

Her dark-grey eyes widen in mutual recognition. She smiles back appreciatively and makes her way to join Ash at the railing, surprising Ash with a sudden hug when she reaches him. He collects himself quickly and reciprocates her embrace: though it is not as long as he has not seen Brock as he did Dawn, encountering his old Sinnoh-travelling companion is always a welcome occasion. Unlike Brock, who has gone quite hermitic in his studying years, the Ketchum has come across her quite a few times especially where Pokémon battles are held alongside contests, the latter being her specialty. Dawn’s smile remains on her lips even after she releases the Ketchum from his hug. The Empoleon’s unexpected presence and its seeming friendliness with them make much more sense now: once her Piplup, the little penguin Pokémon has apparently overcome his refusal to evolve, a still admirable feat to do so in such a short time – he was still in the first evolutionary form when he spotted Dawn with her then-Piplup in a crowd of people at a Contest registration counter. Now an Empoleon, the Emperor Pokémon does not seem to lose any of his Piplup’s playfulness while wave-riding alongside Floatzel, easily matching the latter’s manoeuvres despite his large and bulky form. 

“What are you doing here, Dawn?” 

“I _live_ in Twinleaf Town, Ash. If anything, I should ask _you_ what you are doing here.” 

It strikes the Ketchum that he always has a knack of asking something incredibly stupid: the expression on Dawn’s face, with an elegant eyebrow lifting in puzzlement is incredibly reminiscent to the one Arceus itself wears whenever he proves himself more and more adept at making obvious inquiries. Dawn merely giggles as Ash struggles with the fidgeting, enforced further by Pikachu’s scolding tail-batting on the back of his head. 

“Stop that!” Ash groans; Pikachu imbues no real strength in the hitting but it still stings uncomfortably. “One day, you’re going to leave me with a concussion or something…” Pikachu’s face conveys no shred of remorseful expression whatsoever. Ash’s grumblings attract the attention of his Floatzel enough to stop his playful gambolling before Pikachu’s chirped assurances send the Sea Weasel Pokémon back to the company of his Empoleon friend. Ash’s already messy hair sticks up in every possible direction that he gives up trying to don back his cap by the time he stops massaging his head. 

“I guess you’re on your way for a Contest or something, then.” His guess, made with more thinking this time, is greeted with an approving purr from his Pokémon and an affirmative nod from the girl herself. 

“I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it. There will be a Pokémon Contest held in Viridian City. It’s nothing big, just a small friendly event for us to practice for bigger leagues.” Now that Dawn mentions it, Ash does indeed recall seeing it in advertisements somewhere. Unfortunately, with his thoughts already preoccupied as it were with Arceus and its proposal, many things have slipped past his mind these few months – though of course he is not going to say that much details to Dawn. 

“I’ve heard it, yeah. I just forgot… you know. Battling and training and stuffs.” 

“So I’ve heard. I should congratulate you on your battle in the Sinnoh League,” she says with a widening smile. 

It does not surprise him that she knows despite Ash holding no official roles himself as of now. As with Cynthia and the Sinnoh League, he declines the title of Champion in all the other regions which he has visited and conquered, content only to have his achievement recorded. Still, news have their secret ways to travel far and wide and his feats soon are known publicly. It calls for other Trainers to challenge him themselves from time to time which Ash, though not obliged to, is usually happy to answer to. Still, to hear his hard-won achievement being spoken of in admiration still brings a distinct pride to the Ketchum. 

“Thanks,” he says finally, returning her smile. 

“I could use some practice, you know.” 

“With me? Yeah, of course – but you know I'm not that good at Contests.” Ash can do battles easily enough but to look elegant while doing so is something that he has not strived for in his performance. Dawn, on the other hand, is an official Top Coordinator in Sinnoh’s Grand Festival and is already advancing through the different regions, winning a sizable number of events in the process. 

“I still need help with the Battle Round, and you’re the best when it comes to Pokémon battling. Besides, I’m training new Pokémon in addition to my experienced ones. They’ll need all the help they can get.” 

At this, she shifts aside her cardigan to reveal a set of Pokeballs strung along the length of her gem-studded belt. She unclips each one of them and sets out the rest of her Pokémon, which, true to her words, are entirely new creatures that Ash has not seen with her before: a shy-looking Vulpix, a slightly bolder and curious Skitty, as well as a Dedenne which seems to be the most experienced out of the three. Dawn’s new team surprises him a little – he does not expect seeing Pokémon other than those endemic to Sinnoh region. 

“Hello there,” Ash drops onto a knee and allows Pikachu to scuttle after Dawn’s Pokémon. The Skiddo, naturally more cautious than the Mouse Pokémon, is less bold in his approach but no less inquisitive of Dawn’s Pokémon than Pikachu. From the sky, Talonflame comes soaring towards them to perch himself delicately on the top railing: he cocks an observatory eye at the newcomers, nodding in acknowledgement as Pikachu gestures at him in introduction. 

“Oh, this is a new one, isn’t he? And the Skiddo too – I haven’t seen him before!” 

Dawn delightedly pats the Skiddo’s leafy back as he approaches to greet the shy Vulpix and bleats happily at the touch. Watching her indulging the antics of his Pokémon, it is no wonder to Ash that Mesprit, one of the Lake Guardians, had chosen to bond with her during the accident at Mount Coronet – the Bringer of Emotions aptly chose one with the empathy for Pokémon, just as Uxie and Azelf chose people with their chosen traits to become their vassals. 

“So, that Empoleon…” 

Dawn, still playing with the Skiddo and ruffling her fingers through the brown fur as the Mount Pokémon slinks around her feet, says, “He evolved to Prinplup during one of our Contests in Sinnoh. He didn’t want to become an Empoleon…but then, I fell into a river. The currents were so strong, I couldn’t swim to the banks…and he couldn’t reach me either, as a Prinplup so…” 

Dawn’s expression changes curiously in all of the sudden, but it is a change that Ash would not have preferred. There is a hint of pain on her countenance – in the forming of frown-lines between her eyes and the tight shutting of her lips – as memories flood into her mind; painful, horrifying recollections that steal her away from the present before she is able to collect herself, albeit with an unconvincing smile initially meant to reassure the Ketchum of her fares. Only the booming noises of her Empoleon, occasionally heard as he and Ash’s Floatzel come to surface, manages to make genuine her smile. Ash is a bit of a loss to say something consoling – it is never his strong suit when it comes to soothing somebody – and he chooses to answer safely with his silence. If the experience is a bitter one for her, he does not wish to put her in the position to feel again the horror of it just to tell the story to him. 

“I wouldn’t know what I would’ve done without him…” She mutters finally; her voice so soft that most of her words would have been lost in the wind around them if not for her nearness to Ash. This time, Ash does not need to listen more to understand the sentiment. Ever since he abandoned thoughts on his own safety to protect Pikachu from the flock of Spearow, his dedication is already sealed to his friends, humans or otherwise. 

“I wouldn’t either,” he says simply as Pikachu, having satisfied his curiousity on Dawn’s new Pokémon, returns to the Trainer with happy little chirps. 

  
*

_Red Gyarados_ sails on for two days before Kanto’s shore comes into view, much to Ash’s delight. The trip is not an unpleasant one by any means, nor he is confined by inactivity, but he is nevertheless delighted to set foot upon solid land when the ship finally docks in Vermillion City. Even at night, the place is brimming with energy and the activities are not merely terrestrial – the city boasts a harbour bustling with ships from the fancy ocean liners which cruise the waters between the regions to massive, lumbering cargo ships, to the smaller boats and yachts. 

He does not stay long at Vermillion City and, to his surprise, so does Dawn. The Contests which she has prepared herself for are not due for several more days, hence her request to accompany Ash back to Pallet Town. 

“Besides, I would love to see your other Pokémon at Prof. Oak’s lab –” Empoleon’s sound of delight is intermingled with those of Pikachu, catching the Trainer’s attention towards them momentarily. She adds with a touch of smile, “– and Empoleon doesn’t seem to spend enough time with Pikachu just yet.” 

Ash sees no reason to decline and says as much. After all, her company is a welcomed change to the expectation of solitary journey since being separated with Brock. Floatzel, once Dawn’s own Pokémon before it became apparent that he is a better match to Ash, is nevertheless glad for the reunion with her former Trainer: he clambers up to her shoulder and curls around her neck, in much the same way that Pikachu usually does with Ash. Unsurprisingly, they make for a lively group among the people embarking the bus, more so that Empoleon, though never Pokéball-phobic as Pikachu is, decides to remain outside with the latter. The two Pokémon creates a strange scene as the Steel Penguin curls up as best as he can on the seat – which ends up with his bulk settling on seats worth for two people. Pikachu picks his spot on the Empoleon instead, and soon he finds himself in an extra company from the Floatzel. The ruckus dies down quickly as the Pokémon find comfort in their respective places: the Empoleon’s a big navy-coloured mass on the pair of seats, with a small yellow body atop him, curling beside a larger brown ball that is the Floatzel. 

It is not a long ride back to Pellet Town, two hours at most, but compared to the freedom he enjoyed aboard _Red Gyarados,_ merely sitting in his chair as the bus rumbles on and on feels boringly restrictive to Ash. The sceneries zooming past the windows can only entertain him so much before he begins to feel the urge to squirm around, then realizes that a warm weight has settled on his shoulder softly. Dawn’s lovely eyes are shut, her expression so peaceful that the Ketchum feels guilty to disturb her sleep if even to remove his hand from holding hers, something that he does not even remember doing in the first place. 

  


  
*****

  


Brock is worried that the presence of two women will induce the jealous Croagunk out of his Pokéball before it becomes a secondary concern compared to the deepening weariness he sees on Professor Carolina’s face. Despite himself, he cannot help the slight cringing at the sight of Professor Carolina popping dry the two white tablets into her mouth. The sounds of the undoubtedly bitter tablets being crushed between her teeth seems to transfer the unpleasant taste emphatically to Brock’s tongue that he begins wiping his mouth with the back of his hand a few times before realizing himself in the act. Cynthia is returning from a nearby water dispenser, ready with a plastic cup of water, but the older woman continues to swallow as if possessing no taste buds whatsoever – Brock would have thought so if she has not made the slight frown of discomfort. 

“Grandma –” 

Cynthia is cut off as Professor Carolina gestures for said water, which she downs heartily contrary to her initial calmness. The empty cup is handed back to Cynthia after a few quick gulps, which she discards in a nearby trash bin. 

“That tastes horrible, but it’ll help.” 

Despite her words, Professor Carolina had not been doing too well these last few days. Her headache has come and gone with annoying frequency, which she counters with sleeps and rests, if not those bitter pills. 

“You sure you want to travel like this?” Brock asks, voicing out the concern etched on Cynthia’s face as Professor Carolina stands up from the bench she has been occupying for the last fifteen minutes. 

The older woman harrumphs, as if the question offends her. “This is nothing. I’ve been worse, mind you. In any case, I’m not the one driving.” 

Cynthia is an adamant woman but even she cannot argue with her grandmother’s persistence that the subject of Professor Carolina’s health is dropped there and then, albeit restlessly so as the three finally emerges from the hospital building and its medicine-perfumed interiors. Unlike Ash’s, the duo’s departure is not unexpected; Professor Carolina’s subordinate researchers have begun calling for her presence back at the headquarter with earnest, insisting that there are reports that should be worth checking out personally. The two women have come for their farewells to Tonio and Alice when Professor Carolina claimed to be in need of a quick sit-down after they have left Tonio’s ward, forcing her to catch her breath at one of the benches at the lobby. 

“Personally, I’m not much into believing them,” Professor Carolina adds in a conspiratorial undertone as they cross the vast parking lot to Cynthia’s jeep, meaning the reports which her Celestic Town’s colleagues have been apparently gushing about. “The boys back at the office are good fellows, but they can be, hmm, _enthusiastic_ at times.” 

Brock just grins non-committally. He is quite sure that he will be losing his head too if he happens to come across things that he is interested in. However, the thing that worries him is not the scientists’ enthusiasm but Professor Carolina herself, whose skin seems to be even paler now. She is sweating as well, disproportionately profuse compared to the cool breeze and the shy warmth of the day: the sky does not seem inclined to rain anytime soon but it is a little cloudy for a summer day. He is an expert on Pokémon’s health, sure, but somebody in conditions like that flashes no healthy signal at all. 

“Take care of Tonio and Alice, okay?” Cynthia says as she is climbs into her trusty old jeep and fastens on the seatbelt with clean, sharp clicks of practised ease. On the opposite side, Professor Carolina mirrors her granddaughter’s movements, taking her place and making herself comfortable in the passenger’s seat. 

“Sure, don’t worry about it.” Brock’s thumbs-up and easy smile seems to reassure the woman from further inquiry. It is an easy comfort to give; anything for a beautiful woman with her smile, her charming grace, her – 

The engine comes to life eagerly with a turning of the key and shocks him into a slight yelp – perhaps a blessing, since Croagunk’s Pokéball has gone quiet again from its brief rattling during the brief reverie. The noises are as powerful as the first day he and Ash first heard it, showing little signs of wears in its mechanical roars. She hits the gas and spurs the jeep into a dust-blowing start which prompts Brock to jump away from the dust screen. When it settles down a few seconds later, the jeep is already joining others in the traffic heading to out of the town. 

  


  
*****

  


_-That is larger than I expected,_ Giratina internally huffs, its irritation displayed in the rapid clicking of its golden mandibles. 

‘That’ which the Renegade is currently frustrated with turns out to be a large blob of toxic cloud, sizzling with wild electric arcs every now and then. The whole mass is shifting relentlessly, a lifeless amoeboid formation of indefinable feature but for the sinister tints of purple at the edge. Being large itself, the toxic cloud is bigger still than Giratina, testifying to the accumulated poison within which can easily cause the death of creatures of the Real World with only a single touch. However, to the Master of the Reverse World, the cloud’s deadly effects are naturally negated: a whip of its black streamers sends the dark wisps scattering rather than causing it harm. Giratina lashes out a few more times at it, each strike causing the dark cloud to dissipate until it vanishes completely from sight. Giratina’s quick sweep of the area with its other senses confirmed what its eyes perceive, allowing the Antimatter Legend a little relief from the fear of trace remnants of the toxic cloud that sight alone may not be able to detect. 

_-This is unsettling. How could I fail to sense its formation earlier, when it was still small?_ Even though Giratina itself is immune to its poison, an overwhelming number of them can prove to be a threat to the stability of both the Mirror World and the Earth. 

The normally-fearless Legend finds its deep-seated instinct rings an alarm for caution. Though the dynamics of space-time fabric is mostly manageable, there are occasions when it proves to be rather unpredictable – especially at locations where the barrier between the two worlds are exceptionally weak; susceptible to disturbances whose origin may in fact lie far from where the resulting toxic clouds manifest itself in the Reverse World. This particular place fits the parameters: in the Earthly Realm, it mirrors the Turnback Cave where reality between the two worlds often overlap, creating precarious balance between the two. 

However, most of its worry is reconciled by a swift, fleeting mental touch on its consciousness: the strong, pulsating feel of it is characteristic of the Bringer of Willpower, Azelf. Like its Lake Guardians’ brethren, Azelf slumbers underneath one of Sinnoh’s lakes: It claims Valor Cavern as its abode, in a close enough proximity to Sendoff Spring – itself home to Turnback Cave – to allow for the Legends’ minds to be in contact momentarily. The stillness of its mindscape signifies the peace of dreaming – the Lake Guardians have since gone to sleep to rest ever since their phenomenal contributions to release Dialga and Palkia from the Red Chains’ control. It has been the last instance as of yet with enough perils to force the trio out of their slumbers. Whatever the source of the toxic clouds Giratina has just dealt, it does not seem to hold as much threat as of yet to concern the Lake Guardians. 

Content with its finding, Giratina withdraws from the other’s more fragile consciousness and continues on its way, leaving Azelf to its blissful sleep. The interconnected land and sky of the Reverse World perhaps does not make much sense to outsiders; to Giratina, navigating through the landscapes is as easy and natural as breathing. It glides through the space effortlessly, sometimes drifting past distortions that emerge out of the thin air. These are windows to the Earthly Realm, a means with which Giratina can exercise its watch over the other world without having to leave its own. Mostly a forgotten Legend compared to the Space-Time Keepers, Giratina is perfectly happy with the arrangement: unlike its other Creation kin, the Renegade is most at ease when left alone. Here, separate from the Real World, it is unencumbered by the meddling from the humans in its safekeeping over both realms. 

Ironically, its eyes sight the barest flicker of movement in the peripheral of its vision, in one of the largest suspended landmasses in the area. At first, instinct and habitual scepticism rigged the Legend’s muscles with deadly strength to kill, its mandibles clicking audibly in both warning and anticipation for fresh blood. The Reverse World is not meant to be populated, hence the fierce enforcement from breaching by any other presences whether humans or Magical Creatures. Giratina wheels close to its target before it can positively identify the stalker. Rather than crushing its victim though, Giratina’s long, sinuous body flex powerfully and it eels away from the shocked human. His chest moves visibly in a sigh of relief as the Renegade glides harmlessly over him, close enough that the draft from its passing ruffles his shabby, scuffed clothing. 

_I should have known,_ Giratina huffs mentally, as well as physically which comes out as a guttural snort. 

Newton Graceland’s split-second fear has evaporated completely by the time Giratina rights itself and hovers before him. Once, this closeness would have sent him scampering through the little gaps and alleys in the landscapes with the scent of fear in his wake; Giratina had certainly harboured intention to kill him when it first discovered the human’s trespassing into the Distortion World a few Earth years ago. However, that hunting zeal has long been lost when it learnt of Newton’s harmless intention in its hidden realm, though Giratina only truly ceased aggression towards him after his rescue of both its life and the Distortion world. Giratina’s reputation is built on its tendency to nurse vengeance, yes, but it does not mean that the Renegade does not know how to act accordingly to a favour given. 

That, and because Newton Graceland is one interesting human to observe when there are no toxic clouds to banish, his tall, gangly build and animated manners being stark contrasts to Giratina’s reserve. 

For one, this place disobeys conventional laws of Earthly physics more notoriously than most other parts in the Distortion World, making for a navigational nightmare for land-bound creatures if the wonky gravitational pattern is not tricky enough to handle. That the human being here is a rather impressive feat, although Giratina has known him to appear at the most random places before. Whatever means he has at disposal to travel or finding his ways around, Giratina needs none of it – the Legend soars away, black streamers flowing in its wake, as it resumes patrol of its realm for stray dangers that may have escaped notice, a fear seeded by the unexpected toxic cloud.


	9. Slice Of Life And Cosmic Sauce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life for Ash Ketchum continues normally for him in Kanto. Just like Arceus has assured him beforehand, being the Original One's spouse should not change his life too drastically. 
> 
> Now, he wishes for the opposite.

“Will you marry me?” Says the girl with long, brunette hair and twinkling brown eyes which are filled with hope and, in his opinion, slightly manic. 

The question is calmly uttered but the words strike a panic chord in Ash’s mind for a few brief seconds. He and Pikachu share the same incredulous stare at the girl before him and wonder whether this is a very bad joke or a very seriously ridiculous situation they happen to be in: She definitely looks as serious as can be. She seems like a pretty, sweet girl, dressed in simple blouse and flower-print knee-high skirt. Her long hair is braided into a neat single strand which reaches her shoulder. However, that smile, showing off her rows of white, neat teeth are too wide and too carefully made that it scares him worse than the not-so-question she poses right into his face. 

“Um, you mean you want to battle, right?” He bites back the anxious laugh threatening to burst uncontrollably and maintain a look of indifference towards her. 

“Oh, I’ll have Pokémon battles with you – if that’s what it takes to make you my hubby!” 

She wants to jump him, that much Ash can see – and he is off even before she can spout more ridiculous words of adoration to him. The girl yells behind him, her shrilly voice calling his name over and over but the Trainer is already blending in among the crowd, snatching his cap off his head and stuffing it into his pocked clumsily. It would not do if she sees the glaringly red-topped head among the sea of hatless heads. Pikachu clings to his shoulder for dear life, yapping sounds that are completely wordless – a sound of anxiety which urges for flight. He does not stop – does not feel like he is able to stop even, the girl’s presence like a restless Zangoose on Pursuit; he only does when he hears his Pokémon’s no-longer-anxious noises and the tugging on his shirt: _Stop, it’s okay now, line’s clear._

He stops and bends over, his hands gripping his trembling legs by the knee-caps. His pants and gasps produce a wispy mist out of his nostrils and mouth, his heart hammering inside his ribcage. The little paw stroking his back and shoulders help bring his composure under control. He is at least two blocks away from where she had first cornered him, being himself quite unremarkable at the first glance among this many people, and still the girl leaves him with a feeling that an unseen eye is spying him. 

“That girl’s NUT!” He gasps, not realizing that he has spoken his thought out loud and not caring that he does when he realizes it a second later. “I hate being Champion sometimes.” 

Holding the title of Kanto Champion, Ash finds himself visited by significantly more people, which is usually not an issue. In fact, he looks forward to it – After all, it does mean more people with which he can befriend and battle with. However, some of them are a little too…enthusiastic when it comes down to it and a few of the more hard-core among them downright _terrifies_ him. The worst he had before her were only those confessing that they would like to be his girlfriends but this newest girl tops them all. He wonders how Cynthia, with her charismatic bearing and appearances inadvertly attracting a larger fanbase than most people he knows of, manages to run around the places, what with dividing her myth-and-history interests, helping her grandmother and being a Champion. 

“Man, I don’t want to run like that again after my breakfast,” he grumbles. Luckily, his newly eaten eggs and toast decide to stay down after all. 

Ash allows himself a few more minutes of a breather before deeming himself fit to continue. His morning is not usually as eventful, making his emergency flight a tad too exhausting to his liking. Fortunately, what he has in mind next requires little exertion which may threaten another risk of vomiting: a visit of his Pokémon left at Oak Corral at Kanto’s Pokémon laboratory. 

  
  


Headed by Professor Oak, the Pokémon laboratory is a prominent building in Pellet Town compared to the townspeople’s sprawling houses and cottages by necessity of its functions. As Ash makes his way along the road to the lab – the large white building sitting majestically atop the hill with its wind turbine spinning in the light breeze – looks more or less the same since his first sight of it, undergoing only important modifications and expansions to better serve the community rather than for pure, vain aesthetics. In this regard, Ash Ketchum finds comfort in the relative unchangedness of it which brings flashbacks from when he was still a toddler, gazing up on the hill and wondering at the moment when he would make his trip into it to receive a Pokémon of his own. 

There are a few new faces he sees in the lab, of course. Prof. Oak sometimes hires new aides or hosts his colleagues for some joint experiments or another. Ash passes two junior scientists on his way to the field of Oak Corral on the other side of the building; they recognize him, nevertheless, and raise the clipboards they are holding in greeting before continuing to scribble from whatever it is the computer is displaying on its monitor. Ash Ketchum is a familiar, if not frequent, presence in the Pokémon lab, more so than most other Pokémon Trainers coming from the town. He has made it a principle that he should visit his lab-residing Pokémon as much as he can – far too often in his journeys, he witnessed unfortunate Pokémon being abandoned by their Trainers, even left to starve on their own, when they deem the Pokémon unworthy of their attentions. 

Judging by the fact that he is quickly overwhelmed by his excited Pokémon, at least they do not think him failing in that aspect. 

Before he knows it, there is a dull _thump_ , a heavy smashing in his chest that drives air out of his lungs and buckles his knees, and he suddenly finds himself sitting on his aching ass with a widely grinning Gliscor sprawled in his lap. _The_ Gliscor, actually, with that remotely maniacal, razor-toothed smile which he has been so accustomed to that it does not look spooky at all as others would have seemed the Pokémon to be. 

“Glad to see you too,” he laughs as Gliscor’s slightly rough tongue laps at his face eagerly. “Jeez, it’s only been a few weeks, Gliscor!” 

The slight commotion draws his other Pokémon to the scene, with his Unfezant arriving close in second to the faster-flying Staraptor. The Staraptor’s massive wings blot out the sun in its descent, stirring up dust cloud which makes him cough while Unfezant alights more gracefully, her dainty-looking feet catching the ground as her wings fold close to her body. The flicker of brown and orange catches his attention to a nearby bough and sees that it is Infernape, swinging out from his perch in the nearby bough and knuckle-walk up to him. In the distance, Feraligatr ambles out slowly from his shades under the tree, but no less eagerly than the fire-coated monkey. Emboar is further behind with the smoking Torkoal held in one beefy arm. His sturdy Heracross is approaching as well, flitting around and casting fast-moving shadows on the grassy field he flies above. 

Some are not present, occupied somewhere else that Ash cannot see but most come anyway. When a large shadow suddenly falls upon him, accompanied by the flaps of its mighty wings which drive the wind into blowing his cap off of his head, Ash knows before looking up that Charizard is coming; his tail snatches the cap as it flies by and drops it into the Trainer’s outspread hands. 

“No Flamethrower, ‘kay? You’ve had your fun before!” 

The Charizard grunts dismissively and blows out a thin stream of fire from his nostrils, lightly singing a few strands of his hair. He smells the scent of burnt hair, brushes his head to see if anything else is damaged, and just shrugs. “Well, that’s something.” 

No sooner than Ash finds himself wrapped about in Charizard’s teal wings that he feels the gentler touch of…something on his cheek. A vine, he realizes, as another slender one writhes in his hair before a Meganium’s head is lowered down next to his and rubs their cheeks together. 

“Hi to you too,” he chuckles as the Meganium’s vines begin to slither behind his ears. Once his very affectionate Chikorita, her loving dispositions have not lessened in the least when she Evolved into Bayleef and later, Meganium – perhaps growing all the more so, in Ash’s opinion. At least, she has learnt to use only her vines, rather than her whole enormous bulk, to do so. 

The moment he begins to feel overwhelmed, two more vines suddenly wrap about his midriff; this new set belongs to his Serperior who is gently extracting her from the masses of his Pokémon and sets him back on his feet. He does not expect to her coming – even as a Snivy, she is usually occupied in caretaking matters alongside Bulbasaur which usually requires her presence elsewhere, whether to nurse a wounded Pokémon or settle disputes. As a Serperior, she is as motherly as his Meganium is affectionate, hissing scolds at the other Pokémon for what she views as tactless crowding, even if they mean him no harm. 

Ash appreciatively scratches her on the elegant snout which she answers by pushing back into the curve of his palm. Her time spent outside, as well as her natural insensitiveness to her appearance mean that she is less of a conventional beauty than Brock’s Serperior is, but she is well-muscled and is absolutely large. Her massive bulk coiled around him prevents other from congregating too tightly around him without hindering their contacts of him. There are more of his Pokémon right now but one who stands out among the new arrivals is his calm and reserved Sceptile, who remarkably remains so with a bright-eyed, excitable Helioptile whom Ash does not recognize in tow. 

“I haven’t seen you around before,” Ash mutters as the Helioptile begins nuzzling the Sceptile, whom it is dwarfed over. Then again, Oak Corral always has new additions and Ash has not been nearly as frequent as to see them all. 

Sceptile walks up to him; greeting him with quick flicks of his forked tongue (Serperior, watching concernedly at first, nods in approval). The Helioptile scurries forward as well, having recognized Ash as Sceptile’s Trainer and nuzzles his extended hand before returning to the Forest Pokémon. In its little paw, Ash notices that it is clutching plump, ripe berries of various sorts which it is persuading Sceptile into accepting. 

“Oh, looks like that little Helioptile has taken a shine to Sceptile!” 

She says these at the same time as Pikachu’s forceful turning of his head, directing his sight to Dawn as she walks down the path out of the lab towards them. 

“How did you know?” 

“Didn’t you ever get chocolates on Valentine Days?” She laughs, motioning towards the Pokémon pair. Sceptile is still composed although he is a little more accommodating, allowing the Helioptile to clamber up his leaf-bladed tail playfully. “Those berries are gifts. They’re part of the courting, you know. Some Pokémon give presents if they like somebody.” 

He did actually though he did not give the finely wrapped gifts he found in the mail box any serious thoughts before. It was not until his mother fumed about his emotionless nibbling on a bar of chocolate he has just received years ago did he realize his mistake. It makes his inside squirm shamefully that the Sceptile is apparently more tactful than he has been – answering in patient croaks to the Helioptile’s persuasive gurgles. 

“So…did it work?” 

She raises an eyebrow: _Can’t really tell yet, can I?_ What she says out loud though, is, “That depends. I think she’s a sweet little girl.” 

The Sceptile may have been of the same opinion, visibly amused at Helioptile’s enthusiastic courtship before finally opening one green palm for her to deposit the berries. Ash does not know if it means acceptance or simple chivalry; he guesses the former, if Helioptile’s excited chirps are indicative. 

“Well, there’s your answer,” Dawn says as the pair stalk off into the forest, watching the Sceptile’s leafy tail waving with each step and the Helioptile bounding spiritedly alongside him. 

With the two having gone off, more questions op in Ash’s mind regarding the girl standing beside him. Chiefly: “How did you know I’m here?” 

“It’s not too hard to figure that out and you did say you want to meet you’re the rest of your Pokémon last night,” she points out smugly. “In which case, I think our Pokémon can use a little bit of outside time.” 

She unleashes her Pokémon out, where the Skitty quickly finds company in his Torkoal, the latter demonstrating an admirable patience as the feline Pokémon clambers up its shell. Vulpix, as per usual, remains for a while with Dawn whilst regaining her confidence before joining Dedenne in Ash’s Serperior’s company. Ash follows her example, letting out the rest of his Pokémon to enjoy the open space. 

As Empoleon and Floatzel heads off to a nearby pond, Dawn looks at him with a familiar glint in her eyes. “The Contest will be on the day after tomorrow, Ash. Will you help me train?” 

Dawn’s Pokémon immediately show interest at the mention of training, as does some of Ash’s Pokémon. However, as most of his team is geared towards Pokémon battles rather than Contests, they are largely uninterested, at least for participation. Already his mind is ticking the list of Pokémon candidates to help with Dawn’s training, taking into consideration their experiences in Contest arena: Sceptile and Floatzel both have had their shares, as does Pikachu. However, seeing that Sceptile has just left with that pretty little Helioptile in tow, Ash supposes that it will be a monumental tactlessness to summon him back (somehow). 

“Pikachu, fancy some mock Contests?” He asks, to which Pikachu chirps enthusiastically. He still needs to find two to match Dawn’s Pokémon: Sceptile is most definitely out so far and Floatzel…well, he does not care much for Contests anyway. 

Fortunately, Staraptor volunteers to participate as Ash racks his brain for more choices; striding close and unfolding one of his expansive wings proudly, as if to say I can do it. He is quickly followed by the Meganium, whose vine extends out to caress Ash’s cheeks to announce her willingness to participate. 

“Well, that settles it.” Standing tall and holding their heads high, both of his Pokémon seem inexplicably proud of themselves. He leaves Serperior’s protective coil and finds himself a grassy clearing not far off with the help of Staraptor and Meganium. With no Pokémon occupying the area, Ash supposes it is a good choice as any for their temporary ‘Contest’. 

Taking his place in the pretend arena with his chosen Pokémon, he waves at the girl and calls out, “Come on, Dawn. Let’s get you in the game.” 

*

Ash helps with the Contest Training by the next day as well. He picks other Pokémon to join Pikachu, rotating them to test Dawn’s flexibility to different opponents. Empoleon largely watches from the sideline; serving as mentor of a sort to Dawn’s younger Pokémon. As with all other endeavours, the Ketchum takes the training seriously, though not with depressing severity as to discourage their Pokémon, and the Oak Corral is exploding with activities from the two of them. 

Dawn eventually departs to her Contest avenue on the morning of the next day. Ash sees her off, waving goodbye at her as the bus rumbles away from the station as Brock did when Ash left on the ferry. The sky sports a uniform steely grey which threatens to bring rain though there are neither lightning or thunder to seal the deal. Ash hopes it does not rain wherever she disembarks and ruins her stuffs – her clothes, chiefly, as appearance of the Trainer matters to a degree as well in a Contest. 

He calls her on the next day, which she replies with sunny cheerfulness. Indeed, the weather is fine in Viridian City, where she is staying. Ash does not find the information too surprising, since it eventually rains in Pellet Town late last night. He talks with her for a while – pointless, easy stuffs with no importance other than for the sake of talking and wishes her the best of luck before putting the phone down. 

*

It rains occasionally in short and light drizzles for the whole week. Every other day, Ash will come to the Oak Corral to help Professor Oak in his Pokémon caretaking, as well as visiting his Pokémon. Most who come to greet him are regulars like the Meganium and Gliscor, but some of them see him occasionally; absent in one day and making appearances in some other time, though they all react to his presence with delight. The Serperior does not show up everytime but when she does, Ash can be sure to be walled by her long, muscled bulk for protection. In one of these visits, he sees Sceptile skulking in the distant shadows of the forest edge. The Helioptile, a bright yellow figure beside the Forest Pokémon, is still with him, occasionally climbing all over his body before engaging in a merry chase through the dense boughs. The Sceptile always win, to his absolute non-surprise. 

Afterwards, whenever Sceptile is present during his visit, the little Helioptile is always beside him; still the reserved and shy female she is when Ash first saw her, but treating him as warmly as any of his Pokémon. 

*

News of his return back to Pellet Town spreads fast so Ash is neither surprised nor bothered by the frequency of Trainers showing up to challenge him. He takes them on with every enthusiasm which he possesses as if it is his first battle. Most of them are Pellet Town’s resident Trainers, either waiting for the moment when they will go out into the world themselves or coming to him for preparation of battles with gym leaders. A few among them request battles for no other reason than just for the fun of it, which Ash understands whole-heartedly and whose challenge he accepts without a second’s hesitation. 

Being in his hometown, Ash uses the opportunity to use different Pokémon in each battle. The only mainstay is Pikachu, as is his usual, but the rest of his battle team changes freely from day to day to keep the scene challenging and test his own adaptability to irregularity from the opponent’s side as well as his own. As with every other sport there are losers and there are winners – though experiencing both, Ash has more shares of the latter than the former despite his liquid team. Particularly, he is proud of his Braviary – a relatively new member of his Pokémon, given into his care by a local day care as a Rufflet when his Trainer refused the newly hatched bird – triumphing over his rival’s Honchkrow despite the latter’s vaster experiences in Pokémon battles. 

*

On Saturday, Ash’s Holocaster beeps with alert for an incoming call. He rushes out from the bathroom, a white towel wrapped about his waist and his hair still sopping wet, to accept the Holocaster from the waiting Pikachu. He switches the holographic projection to _on,_ whereupon a pixelated representation of Brock appears from the device and grins widely, waving a blurry hand at him. 

“Hey, what’s up, Brock?” He does not see disturbances from Croagunk in the holographic projection, meaning either he has not been involving himself in female-chasing shenanigans or that he does, except that he has somehow managed to avoid Croagunk’s Poison Jab punishment. 

_“Same old, same old; berry-hunting, helping in the PokeCenter, trying to get close to Nurse Joy and –”_

Brock flickers out of existence. For a few seconds the empty hologram platform is instead receiving Brock’s despairing shouts of denial, which Ash quickly guesses to be directed at the aforementioned Croagunk. Ash knows that he is making a far-fetched assumption when it comes to Brock and his flirting quests, and is quite relieved to find his friend rematerializing back in his Holocaster’s virtual screen looking none the worse when he leaves a few seconds ago. 

_“Anyway, I was just calling to say that we’ve arrived, safe and sound, in Alamos Town a few days ago. Tonio and Alice are doing great. Reckon that he’s going to need only some rest and hot soup before he’s back to what he is.”_

“No crazy guy making a comeback, huh?” 

_“Not that we’ve seen so far. I doubt it’ll happen again, in any case. Tonio’s right – it was a bad turn but it wasn’t anything deadly.”_ Brock makes another brief pause, his image breaking into incoherent pixel as he moves out of his Holocaster’s focus, shouting something muffled to an unseen someone. He becomes whole again when he returns to the Holocaster’s scanning range. _“Either way, I’m staying a bit longer here. Alice’s garden has some weird hybrid berries that I want to check out first. Could be useful for my research.”_

Ash remembers the garden well. Though its beauty and serenity itself is worth remembering it for, Ash recalls most clearly a particularly phantasmal resident among the many Pokémon who have made the garden their home: a seemingly fearsome Darkrai with similarly obscure motivation before the shadowy Legend reveals itself to be a benign guardian of the place and Alice herself, legacy of her grandmother’s friendship with the Pitch-Black Pokémon. 

“Is Darkrai still there?” 

“Alive and kicking. Well, not literally, but you get the gist. I saw him a few times; most of them just shadows on the wall, but it’s cool with me. He remembered us, in any case, and knows that we’re not up to anything bad.” 

Ash has been subjected to its Dark Void before, causing him nightmares that took him too much time before he realized that it was an attempt to warn the incoming cataclysm rather than a malicious assault. While Darkrai’s intention was harmless then, the Ketchum has no wish to repeat his time under the influence of its signature Dark Void. 

_“Hey, I’ve got to go now, Ash. Be talking to you soon, okay?”_

“Alright. Good luck with your project.” 

Brock’s hologram dissipates from Ash’s Holocaster’s platform as the link between them is severed. 

For the rest of the night, Ash’s thoughts inevitably circle around his time in Alamos Town, of the lush garden and its Darkrai watcher, and of the near-disastrous clash between Palkia and Dialga which he has had the misfortune to thrown into the midst. He has been in so many life-threatening situations that Ash has grown used to ignoring the thoughts of _ifs_ – what if he did not find the right musical disk in time, or what if he had fallen in his race to the top of the Space-Time Tower – lest he will be threatened to dwell on the horrors of his many possible fates. 

He eventually falls asleep through his wandering thoughts despite trying not to think too much about it, although his sleep is safe from nightmares that his active imaginations like to bring into his dream. 

*

A month passes by. 

In Pellet Town, those thirty days bring little changes to attention. Strangely enough to Ash, whose nature is to keep on moving and finding new things to do, he has been surprisingly content to just lay back – though of course his mind is already occupied in planning the next trip to wherever he feels like, or whichever way his feet will take him. Moreover, there are always other Trainers looking to battle with him every few days to keep him sufficiently occupied from lapsing into lasting daydreaming. 

Today, though, there are no challengers wishing to face him, and the home of his mother is a welcomed respite. He wonders briefly about Dawn who is still away for her Viridian Contests and how she is performing in said events. By no means is she incompetent, and her Pokémon have trained as much as they can but they are all new to the game sans the Empoleon. He consoles himself to the fact that Dawn is a skilled Trainer with experiences to match; else she would not have snatched herself the title of Sinnoh Top Coordinator. 

“Ash, dear, aren’t you going out?” 

It is his mother, appearing from the kitchen with a tray full of steaming home-baked cookies, trailed faithfully by her Mr. Mime companion. She sets it down on the table before taking a seat opposite of her son while Mimey continues to waddle around Pikachu, much to the latter’s annoyance. 

“I’ve just got here, Mom. Are you going to make me leave now?” He laughs at the disbelievingly raised eyebrow his mother is giving him. 

“There’s nothing wrong in asking,” Delia dramatizes an especially impressive sigh worthy of the soap operas which run in the evenings on TVs. “Especially with you – couldn’t stay put at home for more than two seconds!” 

“C’mon, Mom. You know I’m not that bad after I’ve done with the regions,” he still smiles at his mother’s antics. _At least I know where I got my flair,_ he muses as he reaches for one of the cookies before him. 

“Careful. Those are hot.” 

Too late, Ash is already hissing, juggling and blowing at the cookies, and Mimey has abandoned his pestering on Pikachu to imitate Ash’s movements with indiscernible delay in that they seem to be perfectly synchronized with each other. The Ketchum tries his best to ignore him, or the cookies will not be the only one steaming in the living-room. 

“Anyway…” Ash manages to take one careful bite on the cookies without burning his tongue before replying, “I won’t be going anywhere – not for long trips, in any case.” 

“Really? Because your girlfriend called –” 

“’Girlfriend?’” Ash’s instinctive thought is that he is not getting his cookies stuck in his throat as he did with the spaghetti, followed by a temporary confusion whether or not ‘girlfriend’ serves as an appropriate title for Arceus, status- and gender-wise. Adding to the fact that that he has not announced himself to be dating anyone to her, the whole thing becomes a bit more confusing than he could wrap his mind around. “…Who are you talking about, Mom?” 

“That Dawn girl from Sinnoh.” 

“…Oh.” Well, there’s also that. Ash notices that his mother’s stare has not waned – only changed in nature. He knows exactly what are the thoughts brewing behind those piercing eyes, and sighs, “She’s not my girlfriend, Mom.” 

“She’s not?” 

Delia’s raised eyebrow seems to hold a thousand more hidden meanings than just simple curiosity. Then again, he never did find his love life (or lack thereof) an easy topic to be discussed so his mind may have been making things up. He realizes, suddenly and with a creeping dismay that the already difficult subject will not get any easier with a Legendary Pokemon being thrown into the equation. Brock has responded to the news with the expected surprise but also with acceptance that relieves him; it is nice to think that his mother will possibly receive the groundbreaking information with similar positivity when he breaks it to her sooner or later. However, for now, he cannot guess which side his mother will be inclined to fall into – and Ash does not feel like he is sufficiently prepared for whatever is coming for the time being. 

“Well, she called, in any case. She said she couldn’t reach you, so she called home to see if you’re busy or not,” his mother is saying when Ash refocuses his scattered thoughts back to her. 

“My holocaster ran out of juice, that’s why,” he eventually says after a momentary silence, having searched his brain if there are possible explanations for her failure to contact him. 

“You kids should really get a hold on something else, at least as a spare. Something that lasts a lot longer.” 

“I’ll just lose them all over again if I have more than one. Remember my PokéNav?” Till this day, he really can’t say if he has left them at a Pokémon Centre, in a shutter bus, or maybe tucked right in some dark corner of the house. He has a feeling that Mimey – now back to prodding the clearly frustrated Pikachu – may have something to do with it but decided not to make that particular comment. 

“Yes; and you should really keep tracks on your stuffs, Ash.” 

It is not until the morning rolls into a cold, windy evening that Ash decides to take his leave. Delia insists on packing him some snacks to bring home and hands him the cloth-wrapped box before Ash can make a reply. Admittedly, he does not live far enough to merit any sort of food for the journey – 20 minutes by bus, if he truly takes his time – but he is not about to refuse the gift, especially not when Pikachu appreciate the sweet treats to munch on when he is bored at night. Delia pulls him into a tight but brief hug, kisses him once on both cheeks, and wave them goodbye at the doorway until he and his Pikachu disappears behind a distant rise in the land. 

The wind steadily picks up speed, but it does not seem to have a limit. 

Pikachu is already helping himself to a piece of a fine brownish cookie when Ash has walked out of Delia’s sight. Ash pays no mind to the crumbs Pikachu inevitably scattered on his shoulder, more concerned as he is to the strengthening wind. It seems as if summer itself is retreating from the tempestuous gust, blowing coldness across his skin and threatening to blow away the cap right off his head. The jacket which he wears provides only limited protection to the biting chill, but it is still something than just a plain cotton tee that he wears underneath it. When even Pikachu finds himself beginning to shiver, Ash brings him to snuggle against his chest and cover him as best as he can with his arms and a portion of his vest; but he is cold as well, taking each step with measure and hoping that the weather will relent. 

It is thus _very_ peculiar for him to see a figure standing ramrod-straight at the side of the road. The prominence of this individual strikes him profoundly when he realizes that, while everybody is in motion in some form or another – rushing into a nearby shelter, shuffling along or moving like hunched old man, head tucked close to the chest to avoid the incoming wind – the man stands unlike a statue, for there are subtle gestures of him to show livingness but they are still far too little for a normal human to display. Unaffected by the cold, indifferent to the wind and as patient as a high cliff weathering the onslaught of waves, the man’s only movement is in his head and his neck; turning to his right and left slowly, methodically, peering with his sharp eyes along the road. He seems like an old man, with white, grizzled hair that is nevertheless lush upon his head but with a strong, lithe yet well-built body of a youth. His body language suggests that he is searching for someone among the groups of people walking past him, who are themselves seemingly oblivious to the white-haired man with the young man’s strong body. 

Then, abruptly, the man turns his way. Even from a distance, as their eyes lock in a few seconds’ gaze, the Ketchum is seized with an undeniable, mythical certainty that the white-haired man has found what he is looking for. He is walking towards him without needing to think about it: His presence is called for, and he can no more refuse the summoning than a Venomoth to light. 

He approaches the white-haired man who, upon close inspection, does not seem to be elderly at all, and the flowing white strands on his head are not hair which grizzles before its time: less of a white but rather very, very pale platinum blond. His facial feature is angled but neat, as severe as a Talonflame’s, with squarish (but not huge) chin and high cheekbones. Clear blue eyes gaze upon him intensely, his brows drawn upon them so that the aquiline features are even more pronounced in Ash’s eyes. He wears a pale sky-blue shirt underneath his smart two-piece navy-blue suit whose creases and lines are so sharp that it seems able to cut into flesh. A simple blue-gemmed pin is attached to the lapel of his jacket, gleaming despite the lack of sunlight to give it the shine it is showing. 

“Ash Ketchum. I have been waiting for you.” 

His voice is smooth and cultured, and not at all unpleasant to listen to. Ash shakes himself out of his reverie and returns the man’s stare; noting that, despite the seriousness of his expression, here is a fine-looking gentleman who looks entirely out of place in this windy street. 

“That’s me. And you…?” 

He tilts his head subtly to the side, measuring his thoughts. As he does so, Ash notices how blue, how purely, deeply blue the stranger’s eyes are that they seem to have stolen the hue from the deepest basin of the ocean. “Let’s see… I should be Darius to you for the time being. We need to talk, Ash Ketchum.” 

His straightforwardness should have been alarming. However, the Ketchum senses something about this man that is foreign and yet at the same time familiar, something that he cannot quite name but thrumming through his bones like a forgotten knowledge. Even Pikachu seem as bewildered to his presence, capable to let out only questioning chirps from behind the encircling of his Trainer’s arms. 

“There’s a café nearby. Good food. And we can get out of this damned wind.” 

He shakes his head, sending his fine white hair blowing in the gust. “Is there somewhere with a little more privacy?” 

“…You can come to my place, if that’s okay with you?” 

The white-haired gentleman affirms that he is fine with the suggestion and falls into steps behind the Ketchum as the latter leads him back home. 

*

For some reason, Ash cannot seem to find himself a bus to ride but his guest is neither bothered by the lack of transport nor of the fact that they have walked all the way – in fact, even Ash himself feels as if the journey is shorter than it should have been, and his legs barely feel the strain of walking. However, the wind is still bothersome to the Trainer as it similarly refuses to relent to people’s misery even though it has not intensified throughout the journey, that Ash heaves a grateful sigh as he steps into the interiors of his boxy little house. The white-haired gentleman, as expected, shows no visible concern or relief at having escaped the chilly, windy outdoors; the strong gusts rattle the window-panes and fill the imagination of the listener with a hungry monster with a huge, gaping jaw and heavy breaths, waiting patiently outside to gobble whoever has the misfortune to go out. 

Pikachu hops off his shoulder to curl on a little pillow lying on the couch. Darius stands beside the sofa without taking a seat himself, yet seemingly too familiar with his way in Ash’s home, or too comfortable that he loses all awkwardness even in a stranger’s place. Something in the Ketchum suggests otherwise though, as their eyes meet again and his cosy home, with a couch and the TV, the coffee-plus-dining table, the plastic rack filled with little knick-knacks, with all of the basic commodities of living, vanishes into a void of darkness. Pikachu remains, thankfully, a small yellow body starkly clear in the all-swallowing blackness. Startled and understandably alarmed, the Pokémon runs across the previously carpeted floor and clambers up to Ash’s shoulder, seeking comfort in his usual place with his Trainer. 

There is no conceivable center in the unending darkness, not technically, but it is as much as Ash’s mind can describe the position in which the white-haired gentleman called Darius positions himself. 

Then again, he is no longer Darius as Ash met him, at the side of the road and unmindful of the wind. For one, his articles of clothing is no longer as sharp-looking, and it applies very literally in this sense – the edges of his figure are blurry, the blues of his suit and shirt, and the pale blondness of his hair _escaping_ his outline as fresh ink may look being smudged across a paper, or like a sloppy colouring work of a five-year old. The stray colours wrap him like a silk scarf, and the mixed palettes dance, writhe and swirl about for a few seconds before seeping under his pale skin, staining them predominantly with the dark blue of his outer suit while veins of light blue shoots along his neck, arms and legs. The pale platinum from his hair darkens to a steely grey; suffuses into his nails and the shirt underneath his fuzzy suit, deepening the colour of his hair, forming something with vaguely wing-like structures behind him. 

As his skin loses the hue that a natural skin should have, so does the rest of his body changes. 

He falls forward but he does so in slow motion as if he moves through the blackness that is viscuous rather than an empty space. His shoulders become hunched, his muscles developing around his slender limbs. A tail is forming behind him, a thick, muscled one, which sways from side to side. His arms and legs grow, becoming as stocky as pillars and as sturdy as old, seasoned tree-trunks. The joints rearrange themselves visibly under his skin, contorting the dermal surface with an illusion of many wriggling worms moving through his flesh and settling with disconcerting pops. As his body swells out of proportion, he fills into his clothing grotesquely until the fabric is stretched taut – but instead of being ripped apart, the suit and shirt are seemingly being absorbed into his skin, becoming one with his flesh – and still he grows taller and wider until the Ketchum is well and truly dwarfed over. His neck stretches, the blue gleaming line etched into his navy-blue skin extending with it like a drawn line on the surface of a balloon being distended as the rubber is pulled. Ash watches, horrified yet entranced, as the thing that is once a man throws his head back whilst his skull bulges, elongating in the back and becoming a high, blue-lined crest. His steel-grey hair recedes from his scalp; the strands creep to either side of his head, extending and solidifying into long geometric shapes which end up framing his face, now no longer humanoid but distinctly predatory, the opened mouth showing a dental set that is uniform but inhumanly pointed: sharp and precise, made to slice through flesh cleanly rather than crushing bones. The smoky grey ‘wings’ on his back migrate further down, becoming less of wings and more crown-like when it arrives at the hips and settles itself on the base of his spine. Somewhere along the line, his blue gemmed pin removes itself from the rest of him; gaining in size, matching the owner’s rate of growth before reattaching itself to the chest, in a fringed slot which shapes itself from the steel-grey substance that also forms his metallic facial spikes and the crown-like structure at the far end of his back. 

All of these dramatic transformations are accomplished by the time Darius completes his – its – fall, coming to crouch on four feet in its new form as naturally as it does standing on two legs while it is a human a few seconds before. It shifts its eyes to regard the Trainer – no longer the colour of the ocean but rather the glowing scarlet of fresh blood, not unlike the eyes of certain someone he knows as well. 

The name comes easily to Ash. He says it with wonder but without fear: “Dialga.” 

The utterance of it seems to bring an unknown power into the void. More abruptly than the way it begins, the darkness is sucked away so fast that Ash and Pikachu is back in his home, complete with all the furniture which have vanished into the impromptu black hole, and Dialga is back to appearing as the white-haired gentleman who calls himself Darius. There is a dull ache settling in the back of his skull – a reminder that what he has seen _happens,_ even if it does not actually take place in the physical world. The bewildered, high-pitched _“Pikachu?”_ from his arms further convinces him of his experience, knowing that Pikachu has been similarly subjected to the vision. 

“You are not too surprised. Perhaps you have sensed something but humans have always trusted their eyesight more than their hearts,” he says calmly and lowers himself on the couch, acting as if turning a room into an empty black space is an everyday dull occurrence. “Now that we have gotten it out of the way, I suppose we will not have any difficulties concerning our discussion.” 

“You want to talk,” Ash repeats, seeking confirmation from Dialga’s visage – there is no way he can look at this gentleman and thinks first of Darius after the whole black-space things – and finds the brilliantly blue eyes giving him the needed reassurance. “Okay. So, what do we have to talk about?” 

An eyebrow, the fine hairs of the same colour as his hair, arched up in question. “You are the consort of the Original One, Ash Ketchum. What did you do?” 

“…Uh, what?” 

“What did you _do?”_ Dialga repeats, in the same volume and the same tone as he first spoke them with only a tiny emphasis on the last word. 

“I, uh, I don’t think I understand this. I didn’t do anything, as far as I know.” A black cloud crosses his mind, bringing cold dread in his blood. “What’s going on? Is everything alright? Is Arceus okay?” 

“Arceus is doing just fine. It is newly returned to the Hall of Origin, but nothing is out of the ordinary.” The deep blue eyes drink him in; overwhelm him in their intensity so that he is left feeling unbearably naked under his calm gaze. “You haven't answered me, Ash.” 

Ash realizes that the creeping unsettledness that crawls in his veins whenever he watches the Timekeeper’s face, in fact, comes from the eerie stoicism. The Legendary Pokémon seems somewhat awkward in wearing expressions save for the unfathomable calmness on his humanly face, showing only the occasional twitches of muscles, the quick flitting of eyes and quirks of his mouth. 

“I would’ve loved to answer, I swear – if I know what you’re asking,” he says, as calmly and as clearly as he can. 

Dialga’s human, pale fingers become one momentarily with the platinum-blond locks as he runs them through his hair. It is the first time that Ash has seen his calmness slips, albeit only for the shortest moments. “Then, answer me this: Do you accept being the Master’s consort for the benefits of both of you? Or is it glory that you seek? The chance to claim a Legend for yourself and leave when you’ve had your pleasure?” 

“My pleasu –” He stops mid-word, realizing the uncomfortable hotness which rises to his cheeks and ears as embarrassment, itself quickly turning to disbelief and indignity. “Of course not! Why would I even do that?!” 

“Understand, Ash, that I am merely looking out for its best interest. You know how hard the blow to the Master once its trust is violated.” 

“It doesn’t mean that I’m going to repeat the same thing!” 

He knows that before him is the Temporal Legend whose power controls time; a Pokémon whose strength is of cosmic proportion that to kill him will be less than a child’s play. 

Screw that – Dialga may as well erase him from living memory if he feels like it. However, even a possible threat to his existence does not outweigh Ash’s need for the justification, compelled by his scarred dignity at having accused as such. “Look, I might be stupid sometimes – Hell, my friends told me that too many times to count – but I’m not playing around. This isn’t something I can walk in and walk out just like that.” 

In his mind, Ash sees Arceus – tall and glowing with its unearthly golden light, yet with a melancholic air in its bearing. No one would have thought that the great creature could appear so vulnerable and so dejectedly helpless when the Original One came to him with the proposal, believing in every sense that a human would have said no right there and then. Indeed, the Ketchum was initially deterred from an outright denial because of Arceus’ willingness to allow itself this one leeway – to forego its pride for that minute, miraculous chance of being answered to positively; he could feel his heartstrings contracting uneasily at the eventual prospect of spurning its advance – but as time went by… 

The Trainer can see why Dialga is cautious. It would have been a legitimate concern had the pity remains instead of becoming the genuine affection it is today. Ash’s initial pity before turning into a genuine attraction. From simply feeling it was too rude to deny it straightaway, his initial reluctance softened to curiousity until he began to wait for its occasional visit with stomach-fluttering welcome; at the long, private nights when he would marvel at its relaxedness and the soothing, telepathic conversation it offered him. Somewhere along the convoluted line, accepting Arceus as more than just a friend evolved into a heart-warming thought rather than an oppressive responsibility that he doesn’t think himself worthy enough to be entrusted with. 

He realizes then that Dialga is staring in ruminative concern at him. Something plays in his mind and Ash cannot be sure that it has been his words which have swayed the gentleman to say thus: “No, you couldn’t have known.” 

Even Pikachu, having been still throughout the peculiar exchange between his Trainer and the Legend-in-disguise, straightens his ears in bewilderment. For a moment, Dialga does not seem to be in the present whilst his fingers fondle the blue-gemmed pin being clipped to the jacket’s lapel in a subconscious gesture. It occurs to him that Dialga may have shared a few quirks with the Alpha Pokémon itself, recalling Arceus’ brooch-fingering back when they were watching the Michina’s Festival Bonfire. 

“I understand. I have no business being here,” he says, breaking out of his secret reverie and shaking his head in compliance. In his rising from the couch, Dialga does it so smoothly that Ash does not think his eyes perceive the actions until Dialga is right at the door – or perhaps Ash never does see it at all, altered by time and space flowing around the Legendary Pokémon… 

His usual decisiveness seizes the Trainer in the moment Dialga’s hand touches the doorknob. “Wait,” he says, and the doorknob freezes halfway through its turning. Though he remains facing towards the door, Ash has no doubt of Dialga’s attention upon him. 

“You know something, don’t you? But you’re not telling me.” 

The barest flinch of his shoulders nevertheless betrays the Timekeeper’s otherwise irresponsiveness. Ash decides to press on. “What’s happening, Dialga? There are reasons why you want to talk to me.” 

The doorknob creaks ever so slightly at the lessening pressure from Dialga’s grip. Only now, he deems it appropriate to level his gaze on the Ketchum, whose blue eyes are now filled with a complicated mix of emotion. Pikachu’s paws tighten their grips on his shoulder pull at his shirt, stretching the fabric on his skin: _Be careful._

“I do not know yet,” Dialga finally says as his eyes resolve to show resignation. “And I can trace neither the source nor the true outcome – only snippets of it, like seeing shadows moving in a moonless night, but never the person himself.” 

When Dialga’s back is turned towards him the second time, Ash glumly recognizes his inability to provide more to the Temporal Legend than his cluelessness. What can a mere human do when even the Time Lord of the Creation Trio himself admits ambiguity to the situation? Not much, perhaps, but Ash will be damned if he does not try. Dialga must have sensed that there is more to Ash’s pause than simple acknowledgement; remaining in his unmoving position before the closed door, his hand still on the half-twisted doorknob. 

Then, in the midst of his blankness, Ash suddenly says: “Can you take me to Arceus?” 

It would have been comical to see Dialga showing a wide-eyed shock, as inexpressive as he has mostly been throughout their meeting, if Ash himself has not been as surprised to the suddenness of the request; and to ask a favour that great from the Timekeeper. Dialga is about to reply but clamps his mouth shut before anything can be said of his current thoughts. 

“…What do you hope to achieve?” 

“I don’t know,” Ash replies, suppressing the dismay he feels about his helplessness. He has enough to handle without showing weaknesses right now. “But you come to me, which I’m going to guess because there’s something…something in that ‘shadows’ you saw that somehow connected to me.” Having overcome the initial shock, Dialga’s countenance returns behind the implacable mask, though his thoughtful silence admits to the Ketchum’s assumptions. His eyes, however, conveys exactly what he thinks of Ash’s request. 

“Look, even if I can’t do anything, it’s still good to see Arceus for myself, you know?” 

It is a crazy and desperate suggestion, if not entirely useless, and they both are well aware of it – Ash even more so, being under his judgemental stare. What he will do when he is finally standing before the Original One is beyond him; He just _feels_ it in his guts, writhing and squirming peculiarly at every thought of the Alpha Pokémon. 

“The Master can come see you anytime it so wishes. Then again…” Dialga lapses into a silence, this time betraying little of what he is currently pondering. He shakes his head, sending the pale tresses waving with the movement. “Suppose that I agree: The Hall of Origin lies far away from Earthly Realm. The dimensional flux is of no concern to me but it WILL be to you. I can shield you only so much from it.” 

Ash curls his hands into fists, imagining the act as symbolic gesture which somehow concentrates his scattered faith. He hears Pikachu’s worried chirps from his side; perceives the paws pressing concernedly on his shoulders but he has made his mind. “As long as it doesn’t kill me.” 

The blue eyes’ sceptical gaze becomes wondering, then understanding. Somehow, the simple easing of the line of his mouth lifts most of the severity from Dialga’s expression. “I will take you to Arceus.” 

Abruptly, the all-eating void returns; surrounds the startled Ash and the equally uneasy Pikachu with a sickening suddenness, making his stomach lurches and his Pokémon groans. Somehow, he knows that this is no mere trick or illusion, that the blackness he is in now is as real a space as the house which he has just left. The mystical knowledge only worsens the tightening knot in his gut rather than easing it. 

Dialga, wholly unfazed by the change, is no longer a white-haired gentleman he was back in the living room. There is a lightning-like flash and, as suddenly as the darkness begins, Dialga is similarly transformed into its true Pokémon forme: a tall, imposing, quadruped beast, the rippling blue lines streaking along its body and limbs given more prominence by the dark blue hide. Ash is stunned by how small he feels himself standing so close to the Timekeeper – he comes up short of its legs, barely reaching the halfway mark of its knee joints. It turns its iron-crested head towards him; the deep, dark scarlet of its eyes shine ominously in this place of nothingness. 

_-If you wish to survive, do not let go of me, Ash Ketchum._

Dialga’s voice which echoes in his mind, as well as in the Ketchum’s empty surroundings, reminds him a lot to its Trio Master, yet it is also uniquely Dialga’s. Listening to the Temporal Pokémon is like listening to the whispers of wind on a tall, air-choking mountain: somewhat fleeting, yet smooth and persistent. Isolated. Secretive. 

He finds himself surrounded and carried upwards by a recognizable aura cocoon, more bluish than Arceus’ violet spheres, which deposits him between Dialga’s gently sloping withers, just below the last steely protrusion growing on its neck. Instinct and Dialga’s caution makes him tighten his embrace on Pikachu protectively and reach up with his other hand to the grey neck-spike; grasping it firmly as Dialga glides towards a glowing line in the very reality, which opens into a glowing oval of a portal just in time to allow the Timekeeper’s, as well as its passengers’ passing. Ash briefly sees a blinding whiteness which then fades out like the after-flash of photography, and his environment resolves into a darkness filled with starlight.


	10. Domus Aurea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask; and now Ash is receiving it. 
> 
> But first, there is a slew of inter-dimensional travel to go through before he can see Arceus.

Pikachu purrs questioningly. He shakes his head, in wonder and confusion, as he realizes that what he assumes to be stars are…well, he cannot say for sure what they are actually. They seem to be distant in one second; an arm’s length away in the next, glowing coldly with pulsating silvery glows every few seconds. 

“Is this…the Hall of Origin? Arceus’ place?” 

The snort from the Timekeeper is one of annoyance which goes well with an image of someone rolling his eyes. _-There is still a long way to go before we reach the golden hall. No, we are now in a Closed World._

_Sounds bad,_ Ash thinks, and finds it to be a somewhat appropriate name as he passes more of the silvery light balls. 

There is something indescribably unsettling about the slow beating of the faux stars. Each one is like a heart which is nearly running its course; waiting only for the time for the energy which drives the life force of its host is truly exhausted. Waiting for the end to end its fatigue pulsing. 

Ash pulls Pikachu closer to his chest, who in turn snuggles more securely against him. 

_-The Closed Worlds,_ Dialga says casually as if there has never been a pause between its previous sentence and now, _-are dead zones. They are stagnant spaces, untouched by Time. There will be no futures in these worlds and what pasts they sprouted from are slowly deteriorating. Life does not exist here now, if there were ever anything to live here before._

“What exactly are they? What’s the use of these…Closed Worlds?” 

_-They are abandoned realities. There are many reasons why Palkia chooses to keep them around: this one is too close to the Earthly Realm to be removed. As for the innumerable others – some of which we will pass through soon – Palkia does not indulge me with answers every time. Nor do I want to hear its rambling about these spaces into eternity._

“Okay, Closed Worlds. Really dead. So, what are those lights?” 

_-They are._

It is not a very helpful answer if Dialga means to alleviate his confusion, and Ash says so to the Temporal Pokémon. 

_-There is nothing to elaborate. They are what they are; nothing more, nothing less._

The Starlight World, as Ash comes to term it in his mind, seems to stretch into forever. The darkness is unending and the tired not-stars, spaced irregularly between one another, are always present wherever he looks, no matter how long Dialga glides through the void space. There is nothing else to be found in here, not even lights of another colour. 

It looks as if they have travelled for a long time, hours on end, before Ash notices something other than blackness and the cold lights before them; a floating blue line which swiftly thickens and splits itself in the middle. Like a pair of a woman’s luscious lips opening for a kiss from her lover, the separated lines open outwards, revealing in the middle – not a blue tongue, as Ash’s mind strangely envisions – an empty blackness not unlike the one Dialga has first brought him before traversing this Starlight World. 

Dialga enters through the new portal with Ash clutching on to its neck-spike for dear life, his Pikachu securely held in his one arm. 

“Why are we back here?” Ash asks. Although nothingness is not exactly something you can mark as a guide, this new black space is nevertheless a familiar one – somewhat. It is also a lot less disturbing than seeing the unending heart-lights that litter the dead space. 

_-It is not ‘back here’, as you put it. This is the next Celestial Bridge that we have to pass through. You may think of it as an oasis – a resting place – between separated realities._

“Another Closed World?” 

_-After this Bridge? Yes._

Ash’s heart is already sinking at the thought of going through another Closed World – the place creeps him out without knowing exactly why it does – even before he sees Dialga’s portal opening in the distant, easily noticeable with it being the only other light in the void oasis. 

There is a land here, in this new place that they have entered. Dialga, hovering for a moment, eventually comes down as the portal vanishes from existence, its steel claws scraping the glass-smooth floor which creaks and groans worryingly under the pressure. Ash imagines a lake, a vast watery body which mocks the size of Michina’s great lake at the foot of the mountain, its water a dark, cold stillness as he watches the uniform surface underneath him; or an immense, world-spanning mirror reflecting the black, unlighted sky it lies under. However, Ash can see nothing but a perfect darkness in the surface when he peers down from his perch, which subtly disappoints him for an unknown reason. In the far, far distant, the dark uniformity is broken by jagged line in the horizon that, by the virtue of their distance from it, appears small before he realizes that it is actually a huge, long range of mountain, stretching and enclosing the glass desert in its center. A dim, sickly yellow light glows from behind the mountain, evenly distributed along the length of the range that it does not seem to have a particular source. 

“Do we have to walk all the way?” Dialga strides unconcernedly through the mirror-lake of the Closed World, its throat vibrating with rumbles that may or may not be a casual humming. Every step that it takes produces that glass-crunching sound although Ash can see no damage being left behind from their passing when he twists around in his seat. 

_-That will take a thousand lifetimes of yours._

It is uncomfortable hearing the casualness with which the Timekeeper speaks of time that is far beyond his consideration. He chooses silence because whatever questions he has about the current Closed World are not likely to be answered in terms that he can comprehend easily. Dialga’s pace is easy at least and riding the Timekeeper does not seem as unstable as he previously thought. Even Pikachu grows confident enough to leave his embrace and stands on his shoulders, peering at the immense expanse of the dead zone. The rumbling hum from the Temporal Legend is a comforting sound in the stillness of the glass desert, creating subtle reverberations that Ash can feel running through its long neck. 

_-Here should do it,_ Dialga says through the silence, interrupting its own humming. 

A blue line is steadily growing into a portal in front of them. Dialga passes through it to arrive at yet another Celestial Bridge, looking none the different than the previous two that they have traversed. The Trainer is suddenly aware of the throbbing in his temples and at the back of his head as Dialga brings them to the Bridge’s exit portal; it is subtle yet uncomfortable enough to show on his face. Realizing Ash’s frown, Pikachu nudges his Trainer inquiringly. 

“It’s nothing, Pikachu. It’s just a little headache,” he says, stroking Pikachu’s head to comfort the Pokémon. 

_-The dimensional flux,_ Dialga supplies. _-It’s starting to take effect._

The next Closed World they enter is a world of pillars but without signs of either the sky or ground to speak of – the pillars disappear overhead into the thick grey mist which hovers above them and pierce through another layer of the aforementioned mist far beneath them. Unlike the other two Closed Worlds, there are sounds here, permeating each and every space between the ragged, weathered-looking masts akin to the sound of breeze blowing through bamboo shrubs – but unlike the beautiful, peaceful whistles of the latter, this world cries with a low, haunting, howl-like melody which sounds more like a tortured banshee than any natural wind. 

“What are _those_ sounds?!” Ash moans, gritting his teeth tight and covering his ears with both hands. His voice is nearly lost in the noise of their surroundings. 

_-It is the world itself,_ Dialga says through its telepathy and growls in the physical world, its sharp teeth gleaming. _-The barrier is thin here._

Dialga hurries through the Pillar World, gliding through the neverending columns gingerly and cautioning its passengers to hold on to itself every once in a while. Even when they have escaped into the Celestial Bridge, it seems to the Ketchum as if the tormented cries from the Closed World manages to follow them through the portal somehow. His headache grows worse, pounding the inside of his skulls with rather painful pulses. 

_-Are you alright?_ Dialga asks. Even with its usual rigidity, the Pokémon fails to completely hide its worry over its passengers’ well-being. 

“…We’re good.” 

Ash is not being completely honest. Not only does he feel sick, even Pikachu is starting to show signs of discomfort. Dialga twists its neck, giving a one-eyed glance to its withers and the Trainer settled there. Pikachu has descended Ash’s shoulders and onto Dialga’s back, curling himself into a tight furry ball in front of his Trainer. 

_-Perhaps you should sleep. It will protect your senses from the flux, and I will do my best to keep you shielded along the way._

“Is it still far?” 

_-Even if it is, mortal perceptions are heavily skewed in these spaces. Now sleep._

Dialga stretches its neck to bring itself face to face with the Ketchum. Despite Ash’s protest, the Timekeeper opens its mouth – just a crack, only enough to show the furthest tip of its fangs – and breathes out a blue-grey mist in his direction which slithers its way towards Ash and Pikachu, like a swimming Eelektross following a promising trail of prey. It is tasteless and odourless, Ash decides as he accidentally inhales the mist as it curls about them, but his mind is suddenly sluggish when he does. He fights an incoming yawn; Pikachu fails, gives a huge yawn and flops down on the Dragon’s back and is snoring softly in three seconds. 

“Dialga…” 

_-Sleep,_ it repeats, firmly but soothingly, and suddenly, they are no longer in the Celestial Bridge. 

Ash has a brief impression of being greeted by a wide space filled with wild, undulating colours – greens, blues, reds; all the colours he knows and even those he never have imagined – before his eyes close for good. 

*

Dialga’s spell can be made portent if it wants so. A mortal can be induced into a trance so deep and so powerful that he will sleep, heedless of time and environment, even of his own self as maggots start to burrow into his flesh and wild ravens descend from the sky for an easy picking. 

Thus, the Temporal Guardian only exercises a fraction of its power into the sleeping charm; only enough to protect Ash’s and Pikachu’s minds from deterioration through their traversing of wildly different realities. However, unlike Arceus, Dialga has not yet learned refinement when it comes to its power being used for more mundane operation than its normal duty scripts. It is the cause of Ash’s sleep occasionally broken so that in his few moments of hazy wakefulness, he espies things fantastical, magnificent, ethereal or just plain horrifying – things of innumerable descriptions as well as those that defy descriptions altogether – that there will only be glimpses of his memories left when he truly wakes from the Timekeeper’s enchantment. 

*

He remembers vaguely, in one instance, riding on Dialga’s back through a world of huge, towering mountain ranges, barren of anything living and covered in stones and loose gravel. Crystals the size of buildings are pierced through the mountainsides, iridescent in the lights which come from nowhere and everywhere at once and creating a display of dazzling rainbow-like beams in the dark blue sky. Dialga must have hovered through the world rather than treading the ground because he hears no sound of softly shifting dirt or crushed stones from down under. 

_Pretty,_ he remembers thinking before the darkness takes him. 

*

Ash is awakened next by a rocking movement: Dialga is righting itself from what seems to be a miscalculated step and is resorting to gliding over… a cube. A huge, monstrous, solid turquoise cube. He turns his head around and, as far as he can see, the space is made entirely out of cubes: Cubes of every size and colour, stacked above one another in haphazard arrangements that seem neither reasonable nor _possible_ : a huge purple one is dangling by one of its corner on the edge of a much smaller cube. There are cubes which are cracked, cubes which shatter by themselves and rearrange their pieces back into their proper places, only to break themselves again, the cycle repeating endlessly; cubes that appear large from a distant and steadily shrinks until it is the size of his pinky finger by the time they pass above it; cubes which glow and changes colours every few seconds _(How can ‘STRETCHY’ be a colour???)_ ; cubes which show its internals made of mazes of more minute cubes, only for their minute internals to resolve into a wide plains inhabited solely by _more_ cubes; cubes that fold themselves inside out; cubes that look like a plain dice – white surfaces with black dots – which makes him laugh, finding a small portion of normality in the strange world… 

_What are you laughing at?_ Asks a puzzled voice in his head which does not sound like Dialga’s at all. Before he can answer – or perhaps asks something in return – Ash is again asleep. 

*

The Celestial Bridge opens up to a world of a mind-bogglingly vast plain right after Ash surprises himself in discovering that he is awake yet again. Said plain is geographically featureless other than being completely flat; stretching blue-green as far as the eyes can see and beyond. It seems to be a relatively normal sight at the first glance – what is peculiar about a field, if only the grasses are not as green as those on Earth? – before he realizes that the blades of grass waving lazily in a too coordinated fashion, like the ticking of a clock, all at the same time in the same direction. He can feel no wind which may have possibly swayed the grasses so. 

Then, he recalls Dialga’s words that lives are not supposed to exist in the Closed Worlds when his mount swoops close enough to allow the Trainer a closer view of the blue-green meadow. 

The grasses, as it turns out, are not blade-like; each of them are long, wire-like tube which sways on undetectable wind like a breath, each of them filled with prismatic colours that pulse through the interiors of their uniformly slim lengths. They look less plant-like than artificial constructs similar to optical cables. A sense of uneasiness roils through the Ketchum, feeling as if someone had sought to challenge natural powers and create lives of their own – and failing. 

*

There is a ghost town enshrouded in a mist, in every sense appearing like a perfect replication of typical haunted settlement in a horror or apocalyptic movies. Each of the little cottages is drab grey, their original colours now impossible to tell; their planks are rotten and peeling off, the nails which are supposed to hold them in place rusted a sickly red from age. The empty houses and cottages; the long-abandoned shops and kiosks; the dusty, barren field where children are supposed to play; all of the bear the same weary, gloomy look, arranged in a large neat circle of which the centre must have been intended to be the town’s square. In the centre of it is a titanic, aspen-like tree of silver boughs and grey barks; so huge, in fact, that its buttress roots are massive enough to form a wall higher than the surrounding buildings as they thread through the streets and alleys like veins dried of blood, splitting into smaller roots which latch themselves on the walls and crawl through the broken windows. The trunk is so thick that if it is to be hollowed out, a couple of skyscrapers could have fitted within easily. It stretches high into the heavens and disappears into what seems to be clouds, only purplish in hue. The branches which have grown up there bend down at certain points, piercing through the layer of cloud and extending for miles until they taper off into brittle, skeletal hand-like twigs the size of a regular lumber, leafless and dry as hay. 

Dialga bends down its head regretfully, in mourning and respect for the dead tree. _-A Tree of Life, forgotten and left to wither._

A sense of dread and strange melancholy fills Ash at the sight of the failed giant, imagining its majesty in its days of evergreens and knowing that it will never be so again, and the town which has died with it. He is reminded vaguely of the Tree of Beginning though of course the other one is not actually a tree to begin with and more alive than this relic which stoops over the grey town; reminded how the Tree of Beginning was only narrowly saved from a similar doom which has befallen the silver-barked tree before him. Ash Ketchum is very relieved when Dialga creates another portal and passes into the Celestial Bridge, whereupon he allows the enchanted sleep to take him away. 

*

His waking and his sleep become harder to tell apart the longer they journey through the Celestial Bridges and the Closed Worlds they connect. Ash cannot exactly tell where his dreams end and where realities begin, or even if they are the one and the same. He will forget most of them, but he does indeed remember some: 

A world with a brown, strangely textured sky…before he realizes that it appears awfully similar to the ground under Dialga’s feet. They are in a gigantic cave, he notices with a start; a cave of such epic proportion that the beginnings and ends are lost in the darkness. The dirt-brown sky he assumes to be at first is actually its ceiling, where stalactites the size of buildings appear no larger than a thorn; a stalagmite they pass by is higher than the headquarter building of Devon Corporation, at least – 

There is another world of which up and down is impossible to tell. They reflect each other like a pair of flawless mirrors, and Dialga carefully treads along the delicate boundary where they meld together in a blurry line – 

A world of vast, cobalt-blue ocean meeting a land of snow and glittering ice crystals; Dialga is flying over its static beach which meets the pure white land without so much as a stir of waves – 

Dialga takes them through a world which depicts nothing but themselves: Ash is beginning to feel sick as they pass by limitless numbers of his images with Pikachu, riding on the Temporal Pokémon – 

They come to a space of nothingness, filled only with flat mossy green hue – 

A void similar to the green space but dark blue instead – 

Dialga brings its passengers to pass briefly through a land of chaos whose sky is filled with dark clouds, spewing forth forked lightning and rumbling with thunders like the belly of a starving behemoth; volcanoes tower over the land, vomiting bright red lava and caustic fumes into a furiously churning ocean, releasing thick hisses of steams as the extreme temperatures meet in the fronts – 

A large, planet-spanning city of broken towers and crumbled buildings, filled with stone statues – vaguely humanoid, each a snapshot of either terror and despair – 

*

_-Ash Ketchum…_

The veil over his consciousness is slowly lifted. Opening his eyes, Ash comes to himself and to Dialga’s face hovering right at the centre of his vision; nosing him gently, urging him to discard his sleepiness. 

_-We are almost there._

He glances around and is relieved to find that, instead of a Closed World’s unpredictable environments, Ash is looking at the expanse of a Celestial Bridge’s darkness which he has grown quite used to seeing. In his embrace, Pikachu is stirring as well as Dialga’s sleep charm is being withdrawn. A blue glowing line is forming in front of the Timekeeper and splits open – and a brilliant radiance, warm and sun-like, spills forth from the gap. 

Ash knows that beyond is Arceus’ domain; the home of the Original One, untouched and unseen by regular eyes of humans and Pokémon. 

A sudden anxiety seizes; or perhaps excitement, he cannot tell which one is which. Maybe it is delight? Fear? Either way, the Ketchum tightens his hold on the last neck-spike and Pikachu, all shreds of sleepiness gone from his mind and his eyes, the latter which are quickly shocked into temporary blindness when Dialga crosses through the last portal. His hand comes up reflexively but futilely, and he groans in unison with his similarly unfortunate Pikachu. 

The whiteness which fills his vision fades slowly, much too slowly, that it is almost unhealthy to his fast-beating heart. The motion underneath him, created as Dialga glides out of the gateway, comes to an abrupt stop with an accompanying sound of steel against glass, making him grit his teeth; jarred forward, he embraces the neck before him blindly and manages to find purchase. Ash blinks, rapidly and in frenzy, quickening the returning of his normal vision – and gasps as the Hall of Origin comes into focus. 

Dialga is standing at the ready at the center of a massive space worth the size of several Pokémon battle stadiums, fading into an intense brightness in the distance. Certainly he has witnessed Closed Worlds with open areas more immense than one’s eye can see; but they are dead, gloomy and devoid of comfort for the living. The Hall of Origin appears to be floating in a sunny blue sky at first before a close inspection reveals hairline seams crisscrossing each other at perfect right angles as precisely regular intervals: tiles, he realizes, each one almost completely invisible except for the last few inches at the edges, showing the lines where the tiles meet the adjacent ones. Puffy, cotton-like clouds drift by under Dialga’s feet, revealing more of the sky’s blueness in the gaps between the batches as if no land exists under their misty whiteness. If asked, Ash would have said that the weather beyond the almost invisible tiles as sunny, yet there is no sun that he can see; the light seems to come from a traceable source, only to shift away to another location entirely, defying interested viewers of its true nature. 

The environment is distracting, so much so that Ash is jolted from his wonder by a familiar voice; telepathic, yet somehow all-encompassing. 

_-Dialga. Why have you come?_

The addressed Pokémon bows its head slightly before the trio’s Master who approaches – having descended a short flight of gleaming golden stairs, at the top of which is a massive gold-and-emerald throne – and holds itself before the Temporal Guardian. From the placing of its head and the wording it uses, Ash deduces that his presence is still unnoticed by Arceus. 

A careful silence from Dialga, then, _-I come from the Earthly Realm. Your mate is with me._

It seems to be a cue as good as any to reveal himself, so he leans slightly to the side to escape his hiding behind the Timekeeper’s neck. Pikachu follows suit, making himself known by dangling from his Trainer’s shoulders, his lightning-shaped tail waving. 

“Um…uh, ‘surprise’?” 

Ash bites back his pained hiss as Pikachu pinches the flesh under his paws punishingly; struggling to maintain his already nervousness-wrecked smile. A pressure in his mind holds the feeling that Dialga too has taken a similar opinion to Pikachu. 

The light from Arceus’ eyes brightens as the irises contract and relax randomly. Its contemplative silence lasts only for a few seconds, after which it says with a faintly rough edge of a growl, _-You should not be here._

_-You have nothing to worry about, Arceus,_ Dialga interrupts, a tad too quickly than it usually does. _-I have done as best as I can to protect him in the –_

_-THAT is another matter which merits discussion._ Arceus’ eyes flash, this time staying bright. The Original One shifts its head slightly, making no doubt as to whom it is regarding right now. _-In the meantime, he should not BE here._

Dejected and surprised, the feelings quickly transform into disbelief and irritation in the Ketchum; after more than a month without even a shadow of its presence, after all the waiting and telling himself that patience is a virtue, after all the insanities of the Closed Worlds – with the weird cubes and pillars and the World Tree and whatever shenanigans which have been thrown in his way – Arceus is… chasing him out? Just like _that?_

“You can’t be real…” he sighs and, ignoring the stinging pull from Pikachu’s paws and the weight of Dialga’s concern in his brain, Ash swings down from his place, using the neck-spikes as leverage and slides along the length of Dialga’s front limb all the way to the ground. The heat of friction as he does so is insensible to his skin, occupied as he is in making his way to the Creation Legend. 

“Arceus, I know that this is all too sudden, and I know that I shouldn’t have come just like that… but I’ve had come a long way, and it’s hard enough as it is to convince Dialga –” 

_-And for good reasons._

He continues on, genuinely ignorant of the Timekeeper’s dry comment. “– and I am so, so sorry if it ticks you off, or –” 

An unexpected wave of nausea suddenly washes over him; twisting his guts and making him feel crappier than just having to face a displeased Arceus. The headache, initially forced into dormancy by Dialga’s protection and his sleep, returns to bug him further in this already fragile situation. The golden hall and the sky under their feet change places haphazardly – 

It is as if a visor has been lowered before his eyes; everything is suddenly tinted in gleaming golden filters… 

_-The dimensional flux. He is not entirely shielded…_

He closes his eyes, willing his spinning vision to stop. In return, he perceives a new texture from his initially empty hands; hairs, so fine and silky that it feels like his touch can ruin them, run under and between his fingers. Pikachu’s shouts are strangely muffled in his ears as if they are being separated by a wall of some sort; sounding concerned and fearful. 

“…m’kay…” 

_-How on Earth and Beyond are you ‘okay’?_

A snort, though no longer as irritated as when the voice has last spoken. 

Once his headache subsides – not much, but at least the pounding is bearable – Ash dares to open his eyes. Arceus is much nearer than where he remembers it, its front legs bent, its neck stretches forward – the side of which where his hands happen to grasp, just behind the base of its skull. So close they are; a side of its face is merely inches before his eyes, revealing through its own red-shining eye its fresh concern. A translucent tendril of its aura connects the Original One to Ash, enveloping him in a soothing golden light. 

“…Pikachu?” 

_-He has not woken up through our journey. He is faring better than you,_ says Dialga’s voice, accompanied by Pikachu’s reaffirming _“Pika-pika!”_

A furred, small body nuzzles against his trembling legs. He knows that it is his Pokémon without looking down, which he does anyway just to confirm it. 

_-The bedchamber. You should rest now. And for the love of everything you hold dear, stop resisting!_

The golden aura has been swapped for an indigo one, shaped into a rough oval around him and Pikachu before he even has a chance to protest – it is really nothing, just a little nuisance which he is sure will go away with a few minutes’ rest, if even that long because he is feeling better already – which brings them to Arceus’ back. Furs instead of Dialga’s tough hide meet his bare skin; the familiar softness in itself is comforting, making him reluctant to continue with the objection. 

The vertigo returns in that moment; a vomit threatens to embarrass him and soil the Legend, the thought which horrifies him when compared to its discouraging moods. Ash clamps his mouth shut tightly, swallowing and re-swallowing his saliva to get himself under control. Pikachu’s soft paws are on his back all the while, stroking along his spine for whatever comfort the little electric rodent can give with the contact. 

_-Will you stay, Dialga?_

_-…I shall rest in the garden first, if I may._

_\- I will come back to you once I am done with these._

Arceus has not lost the irritation in its mind-voice. From Dialga’s apparent calmness, he knows that the feeling is directed at him, though the very fact that he is riding on the back of the Alpha Pokémon is saying something to the nature of its displeasure. The Trainer lets his body slumps forward and grasps the fur on the side its neck gently, feeling Arceus rises from its half-kneeling position on the floor and glides away from the hall. 

_-You are a fool,_ it mutters after a few seconds of palpably uneasy quietness. 

“I know. I could’ve been a Champion ten years ago if I haven’t goofed around as much as I did.” The feeling as if his guts are going to be flipped inside out has eased somewhat. Ash is breathing methodically; inhaling through his nose and letting it out through his mouth in a slow, meditative cycle. It seems to work, as far as he can tell. 

_-That is not what I meant._

He permits himself a peek at his surroundings. The hallway that Arceus is carrying them through is wide, allowing more than five Pokémon the size of Arceus to walk – or float, as in the case with Arceus right now – abreast comfortably and with gaps to spare between each other and the walls on either side. The ceiling curves in a graceful arc high above them even in comparison to the Legend’s size, decorated with lavish carvings and sculptures with golden tints artfully accentuating their presences. Unlike the hall where he first arrived, the tiles here are of solid porcelain-like whiteness, smooth and streaked throughout with green emerald veins. In return of the opaque floor, the ever-changing sky is now being depicted along the sides of the corridor, broken where the huge support pillars – each thrice the size of a regular tree in Ash’s world, white like the tiles but with gold bands around them instead of the former’s marble-like, emerald-shot appearance – rise from the floor at consistent distances from each other, reaching all the way to the vaulted ceiling. 

A slightly grey cloud passes by them in the opposite direction. Ash wonders uselessly where its rain will fall. 

_-Do you know that you could have… that it is dangerous to pass through the Closed Worlds?_

The annoyance is almost entirely gone from its speech. However, the prevailing anxiety is just as uncomfortable to hear, if not more so. 

“You told me before. Dialga did too…” 

_-But you do not care._

“I do. I just think it’s worth taking the risk.” 

Arceus’ sides deflate with the sighing. There is its expected nervousness in the gesture, but there are also a whole lot of different emotions being expressed alongside it. 

_-First thing first, anyway._

Arceus halts before a gigantic two-leaf door as high as the ceiling of the corridor, neatly placed between two of the gold-banded supporting pillars. The background of the blue sky around the door makes it even more apparent to the point that it is improbable that one would have missed the golden-veined, silver-wrought, emerald-and-ruby scattered double leaves – which puzzles him greatly, failing to remember if he has ever seen it before the Legendary Pokémon actually stands in front of it. There are a pair of knockers on each of the door leaves – simple but huge golden loops – but no handles whatsoever, which proves to be useless anyway as the door opens on its own, its leaf-panels swinging inward and away from each other without any physical touch from the Alpha Pokémon. 

His breath catches in his throat; coming out eventually in disbelieving chuckles. “Arceus, no – seriously?” 

Beyond the doorway, the opened leaf-panels reveal what is unmistakably a bedroom, though less like a room and more like a whole house in terms of its massiveness. Logically, he should have expected that it will be in proportion to the rest of the place’s overall gigantism, although in all honesty, he cannot imagine what is essentially a bedroom outsizes his entire home. The main piece in it is, of course, an absolutely massive, low-slung bed which can easily be climbed even by a human – and upon this, Arceus gently lays him down and settles Pikachu at his side. The materials give in under his weight which baits his childish urge to start jumping round on the bed. 

“Arceus, come on. This is nuts!” 

Arceus says nothing. At first, the Trainer begins to suspect that he is going to be locked in the room when the Legend retreats from the bed only to scold himself a second later when he realizes that the Pokémon is visiting the incense burners placed at the corners of the bed. With a soft inhalation, the burners begin to smoke: thin, whitish fume which swirls around lazily and hypnotically, teasing his nostrils with a pleasantly exotic aroma vaguely akin to sandalwoods. 

Arceus is muttering to itself all these while; words that he cannot perfectly understand, just snippets of grumbling and his name, as well as Dialga’s. 

_-Now,_ the Legend turns around from the last censer and settles itself at the edge of the bed. To Ash’s slight confusion, the sheet caves in under it no more than it does under him despite Arceus’ undoubtedly heavier weight. _-You will do me a great favour if you will rest until the flux has lost its effects on you._

“So…is that smoking stuff necessary?” 

_-It has medicinal properties. Its scent calms and purifies the air. At this point, healing with my Aura may be a load to your fragile body._

That is true, at least. Just inhaling the smell makes him feel rested, and his belly has stopped its uncomfortable churning completely. Now, he will greatly appreciate it if his headache will go away as well, but it is not anything that will kill him… 

“I’m feeling just fine, Arceus. I really don’t think –” 

He is surprised by the sudden nuzzling. It seems out of place with Arceus’ current moods which entail every reason for him to be scolded and whacked on the head until he sports at least a dozen bruises. The pressure on his chest is gentle but unyielding – Arceus will take none of his I-am-okay-don’t-worry excuses – that he reluctantly laid back on the bed. 

“Come on! What about Pikachu?” 

_-Have you not heard Dialga? Besides, I myself cannot sense much lingering flux on him._

Pikachu, looking smugger than any rodent the size of a football should have any right, prances about on the bed; deliberately showcasing his fitness to the Trainer, much to Ash’s annoyance. 

“Rub it in, will ya?” He grunts, which is admittedly childish even in his mind and resists the more childish urge to pout, which will just make him look more of a fool. “Dialga has put me to more sleep than I know what to do with!” 

_-As it should be. In fact, you are not supposed to be awake at all._ Arceus’ snort triumphs over Ash’s dissatisfied grunts, especially when it is done right in front of the receiver’s face. _-That said, you do not have to sleep. Just REST._

“Fine. How long?” 

_-Until I do not feel the residue from the flux anymore._

“Great. You could’ve forgotten all about me being here by then.” He lets himself fall backwards, letting the bed to receive him and riding the resulting bounces. He can at least be comfortable in here, if not being let loose as he would have liked. 

He cannot really remain grumpy though, not with a very anxious Arceus around and mothering him like… well, it never occurs to him that it is even possible for the Original One to pamper him like this. It just feels a little under a Legendary Pokémon’s calibre to do such a thing – not that he is complaining, mind you. The thought of Tonio’s Alice, always near and attentive to his well-being in the hospital, no longer makes him feel a little jealous. 

_-I should go now. Make yourself comfortable in the meantime._

This manages to pull the Ketchum out from his relaxed lie-down and jolts him into a sitting position. So soon, and just when he is getting used to the attention! Reaching out, he manages to tug at a handful of fur from its neck which he releases in that very instant with a horrified gasp – the Alpha Pokémon’s hiss is not as alarming as it is surprised, but still. 

Of course frowning is not as distinguishable in Arceus compared to human’s expression but the Pokémon nevertheless manages the feat that instantly puts Ash on guard. _-…Should I ask what that is about?_

Ash is reflexively sweating – being _clingy,_ of all things, there is no way Arceus is going to like him acting like this! – but the renewed attention being fixed upon him will not waver without a reply. He begins by stroking the part where the fur has been ruffled by his mishandling, smoothing the delicate strands into arrangements. 

“N-no, sorry. It’s nothing.” 

The frown then eases from the Legend’s face, a reaction which is quickly followed by a careful nuzzling to avoid itself from unintentionally pushing on the Trainer. _-I promise I will not be long. I am only going to Dialga, Ash._

“It was me who wanted to come,” he says quickly. If anything, he needs to clarify that much to the Alpha Pokémon. If there is any blame to be laid, he does not think Dialga deserving any part of it if his ailments complicate the matters. “And Dialga did as best as it can to protest us.” 

_-So I have been told. Do not worry about it._

The Ketchum nods despite himself, relieved for Dialga but disappointed as well, since he is still not able to persuade Arceus to stay. His fingers trail away from the Legendary Pokémon as it – somehow – slides off the bed and comes to its feet in a fluid-like motion, or perhaps it is the illusion caused by the silken sheet itself which shifts smoothly with every movement; Ash cannot be sure of which. Pikachu joins him then, slipping unto his lap, and they both watch as the massive doors drift open at Arceus’ approach. 

Arceus glances back then. Ash swears that the eyes look amused when it says, _-And sleep if you can._

“I won’t,” he calls defiantly to Arceus’ back, which is already partially hidden from view as the door swings to close silently on its proportionately massive hinges, the panels meeting together with a ridiculously muffled sound, given its size. Ash inhales deeply and mutters, “We’re right smack in its house, Pikachu. And look – Arceus’s gone again!” 

Pikachu chirps gleefully which perhaps translate to something like _Just your luck, buddy,_ from his tone. It crawls out of his lap, sniffs the bed a few times, and curls around itself to sleep, leaving Ash to wonder alone exactly how long it will take to meet the Guardian of Time, surrounded by the aroma of fragrant woods.


	11. Let Me Be Good To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even for Arceus, waiting can only happen for so long before its limit is reached. Ash, as usual, challenges everything head-on - including Arceus' restrain.

The complete inactivity of waiting and a lack of companionship make it too easy for Ash to feel drowsy yet again despite his initial insistence. He fights the yawn as best as he can, refusing to admit himself being sleepy after his argument to Arceus and resorting to present himself as awake when the Legendary Pokémon finally returns; a resolve which is not at all aided by the snores of his Pikachu. There is really nothing else to do than rest as has been instructed, so Ash surrenders himself to the unguessable reappearance of the Alpha Pokémon, and sits sulkily at the edge of the bed. 

Ash does not expect the return of his headache, which makes the mild pressure that suddenly builds up in his skull rather perplexing. However, what is completely beyond his expectation is not the lack of pain that should have accompanied it if it is a prelude to another bout of headache, but rather the disembodied, whispering voice that seems to speak from within his own mind. 

_Do not disappoint the Master, Ash Ketchum._

Startled, his hand jerking away reflexively from its stroking on Pikachu, Ash peers around for a suspect source of the voice. No other living being is present in the room and, giving leeway to the extraordinary nature of the place, the Ketchum seeks for anything vaguely life-like – perhaps a statue or anything resembling a mouth. There is nothing of the sort to satisfy his suspicion, unfortunately. 

_Maybe I’m just imagining things,_ his rational mind tries to argue – a worthless consolation as it turns out, for the voice speaks again in his mind the moment Ash tries to relax; distant and dream-like, with subtle trails of echoes after each word. 

_Arceus foregoes seclusion for you. Make it worth its time._

He closes his eyes to recover himself – and the image of Dialga leaps into his mind, completely ruining his hope to find calmness. Not just any image either; it seems to him like he is staring at the back of the Pokémon’s neck as they traverse through a riot of grey and green space. He opens his eyes quickly, finding the flying grey and green to be too fast and too sickly for his liking… and stares at the artful burners perched on the four corners of the bed, and the elegant swirl of the scented smoke seeping from the holes upon them. 

_It’s… it’s that smoke-thingy,_ he wonders, half-dazed by surprise and disbelief. 

Ash does not know exactly what ailments the incense can cure but it seems that inhaling refreshes one’s mind enough to bring back memories: What he saw just now are some of the forgotten moments while Dialga carried them through some of the more taxing Closed Worlds. He sure does not like reliving that particularly disorienting world as snippets of his memories tell him that it is not only head-aching with its constant blur of moving hues but reeks of a sickly smell that brings to mind of decay and things underneath rotting logs and damp undergrowth. Yet, he simply steels his nerves and sucks in his breath deeply, preparing himself for the vision of the Closed World which instantly jumps into his mind’s eye the moment his physical ones are shut. Dialga rematerializes in his metaphysical view but it is not the Timekeeper who speaks this time. 

_“I don’t understand. Why are you so afraid that I’ll upset Arceus? I sure don’t plan to, if that’s what you’re worried about.”_

It is Ash himself who speaks in this vision. Just like Dialga, his voice has a quality of being spoken from far away and in a confined space at once; dreamy and subtly resonant. Without opening his eyes, fearing that the vision will somehow fail to resume coherently once he does, Ash allows himself another deep inhalation. 

Dialga answers in his vision: _Well then. You can at least fulfil its one desire, if you want to please the Master._

_“What do you mean?”_

_Mate, Ash Ketchum. Mate and bond with the Master properly. Unless you have accomplished that, then all other claims are merely Arceus’ assurances. For YOUR sake._

The vision gradually fades as Ash in that time succumbs to the need to slumber through the more difficult parts of the Closed Worlds. However, the present Ash does not need to see more to know exactly what kind of reaction he has made in the past: blushing hard as he is doing right now and awash with a wave of disbelief oriented more to himself than to any other person. It would not have been as embarrassing or shameful if it has not been pointed out to him so blatantly… 

_Arceus didn’t say anything about it, didn’t it?_

The moment it crosses his mind, Ash recognizes the stupidity behind the consolation. Dialga is quite right after all to spell it out as meticulously as it did to him. It is like his cluelessness with Valentine chocolates or the Helioptile’s gifts of berries to his Sceptile all over again, that there are unwritten obligations which he has failed to observe out of his ignorance. It is of no wonder that Arceus has offered itself so quickly in the mountain shrine once he agreed to the Legendary Pokémon’s proposal. 

“Damn it,” he hisses, unaware that his curse is actually spoken rather than merely uttered in his mind. 

In the midst of his confusion, the touch of a furry paw on his hand jolts him back to the present, whereupon he finds himself being gazed at by Pikachu. He reaches out to the Pokémon’s head, scratching him apologetically behind the long ears. 

“Hey, bud. Sorry if I woke you up,” he whispers. “Go back to sleep.” 

Pikachu purrs contentedly for the scratching, then chirps out a more questioning tone when it recognizes that his Trainer’s silence is out of the ordinary. The unwavering stare from the beetle-black eyes soothes him; his Pokémon’s trust and dependability is reflected in them, willing to listen as Ash himself has listened to his Pokémon. 

“Pikachu, I think I screwed up,” he eventually says, sighing in defeat, and continues stroking the Pokémon’s furred body in an attempt to find a little solace in the simplicity of the act. 

The Pokémon takes a second to look puzzled before redirecting his eyes to the closed door, then back again at Ash for confirmation. It occurs to him, not for the first time, that he _really_ needs to get his romance radar upgraded if he is going to prevent himself from making easily avoidable mistakes. As if to impound further upon his newly found awkwardness, Arceus returns in that very moment, drifting silently into the room that only Ash’s agitation to said Pokémon in light of the revelation enables him to be aware of its presence. 

_-Do you not sleep?_

_I was about to, then this weird smoky stuffs made me remember things and Dialga told me that we’re supposed to… bang or something but we haven’t, so is this going to be it and you’re keeping me here until we do it?_

Those are his thoughts but what he says is: “Don’t want to. I’ve had enough of it anyway.” 

It is a wonder how a few lines of half-forgotten conversations can mess him up as bad as it does. He inevitably tenses up when Arceus glides over to him, choosing to curl itself beside the bed and nudge him with brisk touches from its forehead. In his mind, the question of the love-making seems inevitable – imminent even – that the Trainer is mildly baffled when Arceus withdraws with a satisfied grunt. 

_-Well, you recover quickly; I allow you that much._

He smiles. He does not know how stilted the expression must have been, crafted quickly to mask his unwanted pessimism. At the very least, he should not be so worked up on his shaky anxiety, more so that he has been promised repeatedly by the Original One that his opinion is always considered. In an attempt to steer his mind clear from the stupid expectations, Ash asks instead: “So, what did you talk about with Dialga?” 

_-Oh, a little of this and that,_ Arceus replies. Its voice hints of amusement, as if the thoughts behind the answer are deserving of a few giggles. _-It is not anything you should concern yourself – which reminds me…_

He can feel his heart missing a beat no matter how much he wills himself to relax. Of course, like many other occasions, his nervousness is immediately invalidated when the next question which is asked of him concerns nothing about the subject that plays in his mind but rather – 

_-Do you want to eat? I presume you would like to after all that travelling._

The inquiry strikes the Trainer deeply; shames him for the doubts he has on Arceus’ motive. Its gestures and tone are all too revealing how intensely anxious the Legendary Pokémon is to provide for him, when it is Ash who has taken the liberty to waltz right into its domain. 

_It’s not right,_ he thinks guiltily. Whether love-making is in its agenda or not, it does not make the Pokémon’s treatments of him any less meaningful. However, acknowledging the need is easier than having to act on it – more so with his currently scattered nerves. _I should calm down, that’s what. It won’t do if I make an ass of myself…_

An invisible string seems to tie his tongue into a useless knot, preventing speech though he very much wants to address the matter in his mind. His words flail unspoken at the tip of his tongue like a water-deprived Magikarp, making himself exactly like the clown he has been so afraid of becoming – which makes it all the more relieving when Pikachu interrupts the moment to hop between him and Arceus and twitters off a short procession of _pika’s_ to the latter. 

_-I am sure I can find something to fill you too, little one,_ Arceus says but eyes the Trainer a little doubtfully, _-but I do not have proper meals for you, unfortunately. If Dialga has not caught me off-guard… but there are bountiful harvests in my garden, if you would have it?_

“I don’t mind them… and I get to see around too,” he says eventually, suppressing the self-loathing which squirms in his chest. The only success he will have is a ridiculous, half-thought babbling should he goes diving straight into the topic right now. Pikachu has at least bought him some time to find his runaway courage although Dialga would have frowned upon the delay. 

_-Come aboard, then,_ Arceus says, its head flicking invitingly as it flattens its body even further to the ground for the Trainer to take his place. Extending his arm, Ash gestures to Pikachu to hop on as well, which it does in a single bound and tucks himself securely between his straddling legs. 

By virtue of the place’s hypnotic influence and his own occupied mind, Ash remembers little of the journey itself: Though he remembers exiting the bedroom on Arceus’ back, Ash loses track when exactly the sky-hallway they are travelling along ends or how exactly they end up before the towering, gold-leafed gate which is itself thrice the height of the Alpha Pokémon. Yet, once the golden gate swings open as soundlessly as the gigantic door of the bedroom, there is no forgetting the sight of the so-called garden it conceals – which is, in fact, a vast expanse of green-grassed field like a perfectly uniformed green carpet, cut through with a vein of gurgling brook and edged with evergreen forest in the distance. The trees cast cool shadows underneath them, their canopies stretching as far as Ash manages to peer from his vantage point on Arceus’ back – at which point Ash realizes that what he takes to be a grassy field is not so much as a standalone prairie but merely a clearing in the forest. 

“How big is this place, Arceus?” He asks, feeling a child-like wonder and curiousity being awakened at the view of the wide field and sprawling forest. After witnessing the general scale of this place and numerous mental notes not to be surprised by it, he still fails to stop himself from gaping like an idiot. 

Arceus speaks a vague term that might have been a number, though one that Ash has never heard, and a measuring unit just as obscure as the number which it succeeds. His blank look must have been obvious because Arceus quickly adds, _-It would have been…_ hmm, _I will say it is about the size of Sevii Islands archipelago._

“THAT big?” 

_-It is smaller now. Once, it used to be the size of Hoenn._

Despite the differing scale, Ash is irrevocably reminded of his mother’s herbal garden at the back of the house which can be crossed from end to end in thirty steps (and which had seemed so huge when he could barely walk). Oak Corral is a pretty big place to house Pokémon, and the Safari Zones are bigger still. Just thinking about an equivalent of it being the size of a region, one that is far bigger than any he has yet seen or conceived, stirs a sense of vertigo in his head. 

“Why? Why is everything so…” He waves his hand around, indicating the area’s general massiveness. 

_-For aesthetics, I suppose. This place, this dimension, is mine: sometimes I add aspects that catch my attention in other worlds, sometimes I retract them. Over time, it inevitably grows._

A small part of him manages to wonder in his confusion that, for someone so fond of titanic proportions, it does not seem to mind picking someone who is not even half as high as its legs are long, not to mention that Ash is of average height for a human to begin with. It is a peculiarly funny and burdensome thought: Like a skulking Liepard waiting to swipe at an unsuspecting prey, Ash has not forgotten the conversation he had with Dialga now that the suppressed memories have been invoked. The weight of it is lessened somewhat by Arceus’ seeming obliviousness as it brings them to another smaller field, planted with rows upon rows of trees of various criteria. There are those with draping boughs, or needle-thin leaves, or even stumpy little things that grow only a little higher than Ash, and all of them laden with fruits in their twigs with just as varying appearances. Crawling tendrils which criss-cross the ground are similarly fruitful, producing bounties that look like pumpkins except for its striking redness; others burdened heavily with long, yellow ovals as the vines themselves creep along the overhanging branches of the woody trees; there are even vines which seem bare but for the leaves, themselves succulent and juicy enough to have been edible. Even through the chaos of shapes, sizes and colours, the place still maintains a vibe of an orchard rather than a wild-growing jungle – somehow. 

_-All of the fruits are edible,_ Arceus remarks, setting them down next to the first row of trees with particularly low hanging branches. A cluster of berries, strung together in bunches the size of his fist, dangle from the deciduous, heavily weighted twigs. Pikachu dashes off his perch as soon as his Trainer’s feet touch the ground; settling himself happily on its leafy branch where he can pick off the fruits at his leisure. 

Watching his Pikachu’s gorging, the Ketchum supposes that it will be a waste not to let his other Pokémon out as well – and he proceeds to do just that. The thrown Pokéballs unleash their respective occupants, all of them appearing vaguely disoriented at first to find themselves in a surrounding that is completely alien to them. His team is different this time around, following his numerous training battles with prospective Trainers and Dialga’s surprise visit – instead of Talonflame, Skiddo and Floatzel, there are now Feraligatr, Espeon, his old shiny Noctowl and a Sawsbuck whose coat is beginning to reflect fall rather than summer, all of whom are quickly reassured by Ash’s encouragements and set off into flurries of activities as they begin exploring their vast environments; Noctowl flits after Pikachu and Espeon whilst they feast on the garden’s harvests and Feraligatr naturally forfeits the trees and chooses instead to swim in a nearby river, its water so clean and clear that it is transparent right to the pebble-littered bottom; creating massive splashes as he dives in and out of the gently flowing water. 

Pikachu returns to him with a pawful of fruits, struggling to balance himself with only three legs remaining to aid his movement, and deposits them in Ash’s palms. At the Pokémon’s urging, he pops one violently purple, cherry-like fruit into his mouth – and is surprised by the burst of sweetness at a light touch of his teeth, releasing a sugary, sticky liquid which tastes distinctly like wild strawberries. However, even the pleasant taste on his tongue does not relieve him from his conscience which whispers rebuke incessantly: Even the most well-intentioned avoidance has run its course by now. He strokes his Pikachu to thank him and makes his way towards the Alpha Pokémon after a few rounds of breathing exercises to collect himself. 

_-Why have you not eaten with your companions?_ Arceus asks at his approach, uncoiling its tail slightly to give space to the human. 

Ash takes his time getting comfortable to lean against the bulk of its front limb. “I’m not really hungry. But I’ve tasted some of these – they’re really delicious.” 

_-Do you need anything else?_

_Funny you should ask,_ he muses although he knows that the inquiry is made with an honest desire to help in mind. He scoots closer to the Alpha Pokémon, eliciting a pleasurable hum from it when he strokes along the grey lines on its throat. It is in critical times like these that he is awfully aware of his human, mortal, completely normal stature compared to the Pokémon whom he is facing right now. The Trainer is well aware of his ‘responsibility’ now and damn it, it is not like he hasn’t done something with Arceus before… but at the same time, he cannot help but fidget under its concerned gaze, wondering on how best to broach the subject. 

_-Ash, why are you so… nervous?_

“I’m not nervous.” His response is too quick, too automatic, that it cannot have been anything but a denial. There is no way Arceus fails to pick on it unless it is even more clueless than Ash himself. He waves his hand around in meaningless gestures as if doing so will enable him to pluck either the courage to say it, or an alternative word to the more vulgar term he has in mind. 

Not sharing the same awkwardness as its partner, Arceus spares him the fuss and cuts to the chase: _-Are you afraid that I insist on mating with you?_

He flinches responsively, sensing very Dialga-esque transparency which he cannot manoeuvre his way around. His completely normal thumbs become immensely interesting in all of the sudden, especially so with Arceus’ intense eyes being fixed upon him. He eventually sighs, feeling the Legend’s interest will not fade away unless it is further satisfied in some manners. 

“Well, not really. It’s just, you know, technically, we should have… uh, done something or – ” 

_-Ash, stop._ A quick shifting of limbs, and the Ketchum suddenly finds himself staring back into the Legend’s eyes, now only a few scant inches in front of his nose. _-What have Dialga planted in your mind? That you should have made your advances long ago? Take me to bed and mate at the soonest possible?_

“It didn’t –” His thoughts, already incoherent and fragile, evaporate into meaningless mumbling as if they are droplets of water under an intense drought that is Arceus’ spot-on assumption. “…Yeah, Dialga kinda did. It said that we’re not legit mates yet before… uh, ‘that’.” 

_-Dialga is right,_ Arceus says whilst gently prodding his body even closer to itself, _-and Dialga can worry if it wants. I, however, am content that you will have me at all for now. The rest will happen when it happens._

And there it is: Arceus’ concern of his being over its own, just like Dialga said. Ash appreciates the consideration but it shames him, a writhing, uncomfortable sensation in the pit of his stomach that is almost physical. He will be damned to just sit around and act like nothing ever happened after all that – and not just the whole shebang with the crazy worlds either. He has not said 'yes' to Arceus out of fear, curiousity, or even a desire to ‘catch’ a Legendary Pokémon. In retrospect, his hesitance comes out a bit hypocritical, considering that not only of the aforementioned third base but also because he himself finds no aversion in the occasional dreams he has had of Arceus, albeit one in which the Alpha Pokémon appeared as a human… 

_-For now, I am your host – and I will be a poor one indeed if I cannot make you comfortable,_ it continues cheerfully, breaking the Ketchum’s silence. 

“I’m good,” Ash replies to the questioning bump to his upper arm. The fruits held in his hand all these while regain their weights, now that his main concern has been solaced. He opens his hand to show them to Arceus. “Why don’t you eat some too?” 

_-I do not actually need to…_

Ash can sort of guess why the Legendary Pokémon is startled by the offer. It is never made explicit but bits and pieces from their previous chat hint that Arceus does not need much conventional food to survive – if any – as the energy from its Type Plates and environments can be absorbed to provide itself with the vitality to live. Still, Arceus relents to the notion of physical eating and opens its mouth as Ash offers it the fruits that Pikachu has given him. He places a round, dark purple one between its jaws, past the little sharp teeth, and Arceus swallows it. A sweet, fragrant scent wafts out from its mouth as the fruit bursts open somewhere in its throat. 

_-I have quite forgotten the taste, to be honest,_ it says, sounding a little surprised, and open its mouth for another treat. Ash gives it to Arceus, watching as the tongue curls around the gift before it is rolled to the back of its throat… and internally squirms at the sight, being made to recall the feel of it on his person, sliding across his skin in messy caresses. 

He offers another to distract himself but Arceus jerks away. _-Oh, no; not that one._

“Why? Does it taste _that_ bad?” 

_-The taste is not the problem. It is the effects it has on the eater._

“And that is…?” 

Arceus hesitates, contemplating silence on the matter before deciding against it even if its answer comes out a little sheepish: _-…It is an aphrodisiac._

He hastily puts it aside. It does not take one being a know-it-all professor to know what that term means, though he cannot help but wonder the consequences if Arceus feeds on it nevertheless. It feels like a sinful thought to have in regard to the Alpha Pokémon – to imagine it engulfed by similar lust as that which he has witnessed on the mountain – and Ash quickly catches himself before the wondering turns into an erotic reverie. He chooses another fruit among his remaining selection; this one is a rough-skinned green fruit which smells of citrus. Again, he is mesmerized beyond his will as the maw opens in front of him to accept his offer, held entranced to stare at the gentle undulations of its tongue in the action… 

His thoughts are mostly empty – he is vaguely aware that his fruity offer has been safely accepted but he does the exact opposite of withdrawing his limb to allow the Pokémon to swallow. His hand comes to rest upon the soft, yielding flesh, causing him to be startled to his present at the feel of wetness under his palm – and the Original One’s limited flinching at his half-conscious touch. It occurs to him suddenly that just the sight of the opened mouth is an intimate one – Arceus’ speech is completely telepathic, even some of its wordless noises and eating is apparently optional, making its jaws mostly concealed as to be seemingly non-existent. 

_-…Ash?_

The fruit, unswallowed and unguarded, rolls around haphazardly until it falls out of its maw and onto the ground beneath Arceus’ head, joining the discarded aphrodisiac fruit. Ignoring the waste, Ash trails his hand flat along the middle of its tongue to the front, playing his fingers with the pliable, saliva-wet tip before pushing back in. This time, he is completely aware of his action and of the grunts elicited from the Alpha Pokémon but it makes no difference otherwise. The texture under his hand is disproportionately pleasing to the simple patting he is doing, feeling the muscle hidden behind the yielding flesh as the tongue responds to his flitting fingers, lifting and falling from the floor of the mouth to keep contact as much as possible. He wonders how it will feel to Kalos-kiss a feral-formed Arceus, if it is somehow possible to do so – it is warm and moist within, and its tongue is delightfully pliant to his pawing fingers. 

_-Ash, what ARE you doing?_

Arceus’ clear, ungarbled speech comes across as slightly peculiar, seeing that a normal human – or Pokémon, for that matter – would have been impeded by having a limb in one’s mouth. Hearing only puzzlement and no resistance in its question, Ash continues his exploration; thinking that Arceus has nil problem and all the resources at its disposal to stop him if it dislikes the progress. His fingers are now passing over the lower rows of its teeth, hidden away by the structure of its jaws and Arceus’ own tendency not to show them. Each of them is small compared to the rest of its owner but is larger than his thumb individually – and sharp enough to hurt as he happens to graze his palm on it when he withdraws, only barely avoiding it from breaking the skin. 

_-Ash, is this… is this because you feel obligated to me?_ Arceus whispers when they finally part, its eyes flickering uncertainly as it gathers itself into the present. Its mouth is parted slightly, giving more room for much-needed breaths to catch up. 

“Umm… yeah, I guess…?” 

Silence. 

Arceus cocks its head sideways, reading expressions and body languages of his partner in that manner which always make him feel like an open book. The golden trimming dips down with the pulling of its facial muscles in an equivalent of a frown. _-Spare me the teasing, Ash. It is difficult enough for me as it is._

The sudden rigidness in its voice surprises – and frightens – the Ketchum. Its red irises begin to glow faintly, in the exact shade of red as that in its moments of anger back when Damos was accused of treachery. 

“Wait!” Ash cries out, realizing with a start that he has been misunderstood and flinging himself to embrace Arceus’ neck when he realizes that the Legendary Pokémon is readying itself to come to its feet. His weight would have made no difference if Arceus truly means to leave but it stops anyway; a small but precious relief. 

_-Ash, let me go. I cannot be here now, not in this condition._

The anger falters while a curious tone of urgency bleeds into its speaking instead, making Arceus sounds… afraid. He stubbornly holds on despite it and Arceus reluctantly submits with a grunt, its half-unfolded legs returning to their sitting postures. His grasp on the lower jaw further anchors the Legend to the ground. Movements abruptly stop as his gentle pull places the Legend closer before his face, his eyes staring into the Pokémon’s strange irises; patches of red in an emerald-green pool and the shudder they send squirming throughout its body is pleasant rather than fearful. 

It never fails to affect him, thinking that he holds the attention of an ancient and powerful being with only simple gestures. 

“Arceus, it’s true that Dialga pointed it out to me. To be honest, I’m a little freaked out here…” 

He does not like admitting the last bit but he does not want it to contradict himself with blatant lies. Dialga’s advice rings in his ears, clear and unforgettable once it has been retrieved from the confusing multitudes of the Closed Worlds, and the Trainer knows how absolutely right the Timekeeper is. Arceus is not kidding when it says that it will wait – indefinitely even, so long as it perceives no acceptance from his part. This is HIS time to be confident; to make the push when the Legend will no longer take the step forward – and even undoing the progress, if it comes to that. 

“…but I’m not teasing, I swear. You said you’ll wait and frankly, I think you’ve done enough of it.” 

_-Ash,_ Arceus begins but fails to continue. Perhaps the shock is similarly effective on blunting the Legend’s thoughts. _-It is a lie if I said I did not wish for it but…_

Whatever else it means to say, everything is thrown straight out of the windows when the slightest nudge from the Legendary Pokémon forces him down on his ass, where a long trail of indigo aura erupting from the flank wheel keeps him firmly pinned. Ash would have been frightened if it has not happened so fast, and the budding surprise is given no chance to curdle when he finds himself towered over and his mouth pressed against the valley in Arceus’ face. It reminds him of his first kiss with Arceus, back in the shrine atop the mountain – he feels the same trembles from the Pokémon, eager but afraid that he will break, and he pushes himself deeper into the act as a silent assurance. A gust of warm exhalation washes over him from the Legend’s gasp. 

_Dammit, I don’t know Arceus is THIS desperate,_ he manages to think before his lingering reservations are shadowed by the sweeping of wetness on the lower portion of his face. A momentary fear seizes him, wondering what in the world Arceus means to do with its tongue but he opens his mouth anyway; his mind a blank slate which is slowly being drawn by sensations from the unexpected kiss… 

  
  


And lost is Arceus as well; who knows that the human’s lips can feel so pleasant, or the weak tugging on its facial furs stirs more desires than Arceus knows it has? Patience is a virtue they said, and even a Legend like itself conforms to the advice – but what patience can be retained when its mate is here, or if it is even proper right now? The waiting seems so inappropriately long for a creature used to passing thousands of years in solitude observation, aloof from mortals and barely acknowledged as the generations on Earth come and go. These thoughts – these indefinite waiting and wanting – and to find oneself suddenly free to cast aside the restrains is the greatest aphrodisiac Arceus could have been subjected to. 

The push of his hands startles the Alpha Legend though not because it is forceful – quite the opposite, in fact – but because it signifies a wish to part. Arceus immediately withdraws, a little breathless and with a heart beating a tad too fast than its usual rhythm. The rejection is quietly frustrating, itself turning quickly into one of worry that Arceus has crossed a line somewhere without it noticing. Though the coveted mating is a matter of officialising their bonds, Arceus is not without desires of its own and the union it yearns for goes well beyond being the final seal. Arceus craves for mating for the sake of mating itself, to finally love its mate as mates should be loved. To think that it may be forcing the Ketchum into the act is a soul-wrenching worry – but it is ultimately waived aside by the smile in the human’s eyes. 

“Wow, Arceus – Calm down!” He gasps, as breathless as his partner by the unexpected kiss. Arceus cannot remember when it uses its tongue but it must have at some point as Ash reaches up and wipes a string of saliva, too thick to have been produced solely on his own, from his puffy lips. 

For a Legend whose composure rarely fails (being nearly murdered is a hard exception), the spontaneity makes for a burning shame. Arceus feels dirtied, dishonoured; this is a behaviour fit only for lustful creature addled with mating hormones. It pulls away regretfully, phantom pressure of the human’s mouth on its own still subtly and deviously alluring, and drops its head to the ground beside him. 

_-I… I should not have done that. I… I am sorry._

Even with the willingness, it does not change Ash Ketchum for who he is; a wonderful, cheerful and gifted young man, yes, but still with all the faults of a mortal human. Arceus’ responsibility for his wellbeing – everything about him from safety to comfort and pleasure – holds truer than ever now. It will be a permanent failure on its part if _anything_ befalls its mate when he is supposed to be in its care, doubly so if it of Arceus’ own doing. 

It will be the height of disgrace if its precious mate is hurt in what should have been pleasurable. 

Fortunately, the small hand landing on its gold-laced forehead is light but reassuring, just as the smile the Trainer wears on his (still wet and glistening with leftover saliva) lips. Both of his arms are brought up and about its head, enclosing the Legend’s face in an embrace that barely covers the bulk of its skull. The closeness supplies further insights than just his readiness; his body has a faint fruity scent most of the time but now, there is an undertone of musk which points out to one possible interpretation. His loose-fitting pants hide it well though, and that is a shame. 

“No teases,” he promises; a mumble that is like a hoarse whisper, a change of tone brought about by the same reason as his different smell. 

_-…but your Magi – I mean, your Pokémon…?_

His eyes widen in sudden realization. “Dammit – I forgot –” 

Curses and mumbles intermingle with each other; a rosy blush beginning to appear on his cheeks. Arceus removes itself from him as he struggles to get up and sit, realizing for the first time of the distant eyes of his Magical Creatures roaming about the place. Arceus sees each and every one of them, though perhaps the same could not be said for its mate – some of them are well-blended in the forestry backdrops, like the summer-fall Sawsbuck with brown coats that camouflage nicely with the tree barks, or the Noctowl whose silence and stillness conceals him in the shadows. Then, there are also his Feraligatr and the brightly yellow Pikachu, all too prominent and with not the least care to pretend ignorance. The Feraligatr even more so, blinking one huge eye at the flustered Trainer: a knowing wink. The water crocodilian must have been an experienced romantic and the Pikachu is a thankfully permissive creature as they both shout something to Arceus. 

_-You can recall them if you wish,_ Arceus supplies whilst Ash frantically wipes off grass and soils from his pants and back, and moans desperately at the wetness of saliva on his person. _-…or, as your Feraligatr and Pikachu have suggested to me, you can leave them here to enjoy the garden by themselves._

Arceus has not known that his sun-tanned skin can get _that_ red, having supposed that such intensity is only possible for an exceptionally fair, pale skin before; clearly, Arceus is wrong. Not that there is anything to complain about that – a confident or cheerful Ash is lovely, but a blushing Ash is another attraction altogether. He babbles about being embarrassed to ‘go down to business’ right here and now in front of his Pokémon even though he has been stark naked in front of them before, but this time is different because this is not just him standing there doing nothing or having a bath or changing his cloth or – 

_-Ash Ketchum,_ Arceus interrupts his litany of seemingly endless jabbers, stopping him mid-word about _di_ -something, _-We do not have to remain here if you are uncomfortable. I DO have my bedchamber, if you have forgotten._

He seems to have been slapped by an invisible hand, shaking his head and blinking his eyes rapidly like a Deerling caught in a headlight. His eyes flit between the Original One and his Pokémon, sucking his teeth thoughtfully, stopping for a few seconds to scratch his head, then shrugs. “Uh… I can leave them here?” 

_-That is what I have been told,_ Arceus replies to the agreeing noises from his companions. 

The pleasant waves of warmth in its veins are becoming increasingly difficult to ignore that every ounce of self-composure is needed just to keep itself from forgoing all sense of chivalry and attend to its desires there and then. Fortunately, Ash is quick to come to his decision, spreading his arms invitingly as if coaxing an embrace. Arceus complies with that only briefly before its poise is shattered and the human is hauled by its tactile aura onto its back. It is difficult, too difficult perhaps, to not turn everything upside down and let their longings be quenched wherever they are now – especially with its mate’s hardness being pressed against the back of its neck when he leans forward for a hug and _curses, is he moving his hips like that on purpose?_

Arceus struggles to hold on to that shred of perseverance to keep its mind intact and its eyes towards the seemingly impossibly long corridor, and hold on it does despite the odds. It calls to the place’s essence, sensing its metaphysical structure that overlay the visible ones, coaxing realities to shape themselves to its desire. 

The Palace of Origin answers. 

Its Aura serving as the sculpting hand, the place rearranges itself so that the design reflects its master’s desire. The hallway connects itself to the bedchamber instead of straying to other locations of the castle, and soon they find themselves back where Ash has been left to recover from his journey – though this time for an entirely different reason; lying on the expansive bed, locked again in a kiss that neither remembers when it is initiated; his legs are on each side of its neck, cloth sliding against fur and hands grasping at its face for some sort of an anchor; Arceus, struggling to balance itself from putting too much weight and yet needing to feel his body trapped underneath its own. Its tail swishes around, messing the sheets and striking the floor with a muffled _thud_ with the tip. 

Ash pulls away gasping, being the mortal human he is; needing to take a breath, noticing the basic fact only after he has completely exhausted his lungs’ supply of it. Fuelled by an unexpected bravery and desire to please, the kiss has left the Ketchum in a daze: A Legend’s love is more than just a sentiment. No human can hope to escape the touch of the Legend, and one who feels so strongly for the other, unscathed. For a while, he simply gawps at Arceus before smiling sheepishly, hauling himself up into a sitting position before the Legend. 

“So… we’re really going for it now?”

_-If you wish, then yes._ A momentary dread that Ash will be scared out of the act leaves the Alpha Legend at somewhat of a loss which feels awfully close to fear. The thought of separating stabs into its essence with the pain that rivals a physical force but to go on against his willingness, to force upon him something which he cannot take pleasure in himself, is yet a worse, much worse pain. 

If he has said no, there is no other choice but to oblige. 

He says nothing of the sort, only biting his lower lip nervously. “…This is, um, a bit awkward… but it’s going to be my first time. Can we, uh, go slowly?” 

The information is new to Arceus, but it is not exactly news. The Ketchum exudes a feel of virginity in his bearing; a hardly articulable sense of _untouchedness_ that Arceus perceived as its visits became more frequent. Even if its mate has been with anyone else before, Arceus cannot find it in itself to begrudge the scenario that another has had the pleasure with him. Right here and right now, Ash is here and it is Arceus who is with him. 

_-Of course, dear one._ The urge to love the human is already overwhelming but Arceus settles for a little lick for the moment, using the tip to swipe at his face and leaving a trail of saliva along his cheek and across the bridge of his nose. _-Speaking of which… Do you prefer me as a human? I will change if you are more comfortable with me so._

Again with the lip-biting as he judges his thoughts. His finger traces the rises and dips of bones under its chin; a lazy, dreamy movement for the sake of touching. “…It’s fine but I want you like this. I mean, I didn’t even know you can change until the Michina festival so… yeah. No changing.” 

Now _this_ is news. Arceus have observed human behaviours, have seen them finding attraction in others: a small number of them prefer the same sex, others of their opposite, and even some in their companion Magical Creatures. In Ash, the Legend concludes that he is mostly attracted to females, showing more tendencies for romance in girls rather than boys and seemed a little more at ease with Arceus when in a human form back in the Harvest Festival. Frankly, it expects to be requested to transform into the same woman figure – though finding itself preferred just as it is, is a delightful surprise. 

There is a danger though, what with their size differences, and a smaller limb can touch more intimately… 

_“Whoa!”_

Ash is gawking unabashedly when the light of the transformation recedes back into itself. It is not a drastic alteration so the brightness is not as intense as it has been in the dark forest at the edge of Michina Lake and there is barely any change in physical appearances – except that Arceus has decided to scale itself down to less glaring deviancies in their size. A Sawsbuck seems to be of an ideal size for a first time’s cautionary measure so that Arceus no longer grossly towers over its mate and its bulk is not as much at risk of crushing the human if it is accidentally lost in the moments and becomes reckless. On the other hand, it is peculiar to be staring at a human and finds that he occupies most of its vision, or that they are presently at an eye level without Arceus having to direct its gaze downwards when in this body. 

“Whoa,” he repeats but a little more softly, having his words stolen by the surprise, touching his hand to its neck where it joins the head. Arceus stiffens itself at the touch, wondering if it will be approved or whether the Ketchum has lost his interest in itself now; feeling oddly unused to the uncertainty of its physiques. 

“…You look… _different_ without that wheel-thing, Arceus.” 

Arceus tilts its head a little to steal a glance at its own bare waist, unadorned and lacking the golden highlight for the time being. For fear of unbridled release of its power, Arceus has grown used to having the cross-like wheel worn all the time but this place is under its own watch and mastery, and it is only momentarily absorbed into its body rather than being discarded altogether. Though accustomed to it itself, Arceus does not think that the sharp spokes can be appreciated if it happens to dig into his flesh or hinders positions that Arceus would not have normally assumed. It says so to the Ketchum, adding that its power can still be controlled by will without the aid of said flank-ring. 

Both hands are now cupping its head by the lower jaw, his thumbs brushing lightly at the boundary between the grey and white fur. “I don’t mind it that much.”

A kiss is desired and Arceus grants it to him, leaning in and submitting its mouth to be met by the human. It revels in the better fit of their faces, his lips easily finding the correct alignment, Arceus humming appreciatively as the closed-mouth touching becomes bolder. Its tongue makes a tentative entry when Ash gasps into the kiss; there is a little jerk and an inhalation of surprise but no signs of rejection, encouraging Arceus to enter just a little deeper. Its tongue finds its partner’s easily, a brief, wet meeting, and Arceus draws back. 

_Slowly… slowly; there is enough time in the world._

Its retreat invites Ash to do the same. He does it awkwardly at first, his tongue stumbling a little at the boundary – unsure, perhaps – but quickly finding its way to Arceus. Their kiss deepens, tongues chasing each other, flirting, caressing, wrestling half-heartedly for dominion before Ash gives in to the push. His hands grasp a little tighter with every inch of his mouth explored, moaning and grunting delightedly at the lecherous swipes on his teeth and Arceus’ deepening reach. Arceus loves to kiss, to offer an oral intimacy which no regular soul can savour and feel the warmth of its lover’s mouth against its own. The young man gives one which is sweet and mischievous, his lips occasionally offering playful bites and his tongue only invitingly swirls around the intruder to keep the Original One interested rather than offering any true resistance. The arms wound about its neck bring Arceus down with him when he reclines on the bed, his lower half being pressed against the roundness of its chest beginning to build pressure that playfully pokes against Arceus’ body. It sends electrifying tingles from the point of contact coursing through its veins and arteries and along the spine to the very tip of its tail. 

Arceus breaks away to a sight of a gasping, puffy-lipped, red-cheeked Ash but the growing lust in it demands to see so much more than that. The Alpha Legend clinks its tiny fang against the topmost button of his shirt impatiently. _-Take it off, Ash._

There is no resisting the lusty command but his fingers are awkward as they work the buttons off one by one. Although there are only three to be dealt with, the progress is still too slow for its liking that Arceus has a split-second urge to simply rip the fabric apart but manages to restrain itself before its fangs can snag open the top of his shirt. The lean torso comes into view soon enough thankfully, rising up and down to the human’s heavy breathing, the skin shiny with a layer of sweat which Arceus eagerly laps up before it can even think about it. Small mewls come from the Ketchum whilst Arceus follows invisible paths along his neck down to the prominent collarbone, where it stops and draws back an inch to admire the body under it. His nipples are dark auburn stubs against the lightly tanned torso, lust-hardened and seemingly beckoning to desiring watchers to play with. Arceus has been greatly disappointed before that it could do little more than general swipes on his chest before because of its size but now, it revels in the thought that it can now lavish more personal, elaborate attentions on those alluring little nubs. His body shuddering, Ash is gurgling wordless noises of pleasure when Arceus flicks its tongue against a nipple, grazing its teeth lightly against the other and quickly returning to the first with teasing little nudges. 

_Such a sweet voice,_ it wonders as his voice rises to a new pitch from the gentle sucking. 

Ash’s movements are spastic, incoherent, lacking directions other than the need for contacts which really do not help much to maintain Arceus’ self-control, not when his hands are grasping randomly and his thighs tightening around Arceus’ neck just to keep the Legend where it is. The lump between his legs grows larger and harder, its warmth maddeningly exciting against Arceus’ pressing chest. Arceus forces its attention on his nipples, working them with its tongue and teeth with a renewed hunger. It is a pleasure unto itself in being able to give its mate the sensations which make him squirm so but there is also another to be gained in Ash’s bliss for his Aura caresses Arceus’ senses as his lust soars to higher levels of pleasure. To a normal human it is an intangible effect but to Arceus, sensitive to a whole new degree of perceptions, the human’s Aura is as sweet as a hand’s loving strokes or an intoxicating kiss like the ones they have just shared. 

Arceus would have loved to see him in the throes of passion again. Remembering the scrunched shut eyes, the pressure of his hands on its body and his orgasm-raised voice echoing in the shrine, Arceus perfectly intends to bring him satisfaction as it works its tongue more thoroughly upon his chest, his neck, his face… practically everywhere that it can reach. It eventually comes to the point when the human begins to arch his back and his belly muscles visibly contort as if restraining some sort of a hidden creature from bursting out of his body but a hand slapped roughly to its forehead halts the progress. Arceus glances upwards, question and concern colliding in its eyes as it withdraws itself from the human; distinctly regretting the loss of contact between them. 

Though his cheeks are turning crimson and his eyes burn with anticipation and intense desire, his lower lip is puffy with his nervous biting. Ash suddenly realizes that his hand on its forehead is still holding them apart and pulls it back, allowing Arceus to touch him again. This time, Arceus refrains from making the nearness too suggestive as to oppress its lover; intending only to comfort him for the time being. His chest rises and falls more slowly, corresponding to his slowing breaths and relaxing muscles. His Aura is a dampened glow of a much brighter fire as it was before. His lips tremble in a soft whisper that the words are almost lost to the Legend if not for its sensitive hearing. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just… um, it’s a bit too quick and… um –” He stutters himself off to silence, apparently failing to justify his stopping of Arceus’ attention. 

_-Forgive me, Ash._ Carefully Arceus nudges the young man out of his pathetic curling, all the while berating itself for its impatience that causes his distress. If only Arceus knows exactly what will ease its mate… 

_-Is there anything you want me to do?_

Ash blinks. His eyes making a quick, sweeping pass over the Original One, he un-bites his lips long enough to whisper, “…I didn’t get a chance to see you proper, so…” 

His blush, having gradually faded through the pause, returns in a rush but his eyes are radiating an intense desire; a request in essence but with determination which makes it almost an insistence. His gaze is quickly dropped once Ash realizes that he is staring, perhaps fearing possible insolence in his passion. What it does to Arceus is completely different for it rouses its insides to burn with a slow yet consuming heat, demanding liberation more intensely for every moment it is denied. The edges of its mouth is pulled back into a wide grin, showing off the sharp, white teeth which are capable of rending flesh but has been delicately handled to provide its mate’s pleasure instead. 

_-Come then. Take your share._ It lets its tongue run across its perfect teeth in a slow, purposeful lick. Arceus rolls its body slightly so that it rests on its side for an easier reach to the more concealed parts. 

The invitation dazes the Ketchum into a momentary catatonia. Then, the light returns into his eyes, gleaming with hope and excitement. Arceus loves the look just as much as the kiss – a desire unspoken yet understood. Knowing that Ash perceives itself capable of giving him pleasure and that the young man wishes to return the favour. Is it greed or pride? This overwhelming need to feel itself appreciated, loved, admired feels too close to wrongful vanity – but surely one can forgive the sin? After all, Arceus will only flaunt itself to its lover’s gaze… 

Of course Ash goes for its ears first, Arceus muses as he reaches out to either sides of its head, his fingers gently wrapped about the furry lengths. They are the first parts of the Legend which Ash has accidentally discovered to be sensitive enough to be erogenous zones, coming close to climaxing Arceus just by petting them. Of course, there was the advantage of surprise before whilst Arceus is prepared now to quell the waves of pleasure from bursting to premature orgasm. Yet, it is still a struggle for Arceus even with the anticipation, groaning and growling lustfully to vent out the building pressure and pleasure threatening to cut the blissful moments short. 

Perhaps he has not been thinking it thoroughly because Ash takes an ear-tip between his lips which causes Arceus’ gasps, then coughs himself as the short furs tickle the inside of his mouth. The gasps then become a chuckle, simply because the scene seems so out of place and ridiculous for their current moods but Arceus quickly stops at the frown appearing on that smooth, youthful face. 

“Yeah, laugh at that. I know I’m not good at it.” He pouts, wiping fallen hairs from his tongue and around his lips. 

Arceus nuzzles the human apologetically, sliding its sinuous neck around him and tracing its tongue into the lobes of his ear. Ash pushes the Legend away giggling, tickled and aroused by the wet kisses which have trailed down to his throat. 

“Stop that, it’s my turn!” He laughs as well, then immediately sets himself to exploring Arceus’ body once again under Arceus’ curious observation, leaving the well-touched ears for the neck. 

Ash pauses, finally choosing his target that is the lump at the upper portion of its throat. Despite its appearance, Ash finds that it is not as squishy as it looks even though it yields slightly under his pressing hand. The pairs of pointed projections growing out of the sides of its neck are less of a surprise; he has touched them before and the feeling of hard, bony structures under his palms is exactly as he remembers, the hide shifting slightly with his massaging. He travels further down, making his way to the grey regions on its underside. The furs there are softer but also a lot shorter than the white ones; with the downsizing, Ash cannot even grasp at the grey, silky bristles and settles with simple stroking. When he reaches the rise of its chest, Arceus shifts the front legs slightly so that he can continue onwards, right to where the grey slopes down to the white border of the underbelly. 

It is a slow progress but the words continue to drift around in Arceus’ mind, a mantra of a sort, and it simply revels in the touching. _Let him have his fun. Slowly, slowly. Time enough in the world._

Ash is cupping the mound of its chest in his hands, squeezing gently, experimentally, observing the reactions he elicits from the actions. Arceus hums deeply in its throat; it is not intense but still pleasurable, a sensation that reminds the Legend of a swelling tide rather than fierce, rock-hewing waves. With insistence and practice, Arceus can be brought to climax there just as touching the ears does. 

“Oh… you like it here too?” The inquiry is genuinely innocent rather than being raunchy and teasing. 

_-Of course,_ Arceus replies patiently, finding itself attracted to his curiousity and eagerness as it has always been. 

He retraces the twin rivulets of darker, coarser hair that makes for the striations along the underside of its neck back to the lower edge of its neck-bulge. His next attention is upon the intricacies of its legs, which mildly baffles the Original One for they seem to hold little of interest to the young man. But then again, Arceus has been fascinated by his Aura which, according to the Ketchum, is apparently something that mostly escapes a human’s notice altogether, let alone being a matter of attraction. Not that his physiques are unpleasant – far from it, in fact, as Arceus has managed to find even the slightest interest in every part of his body. His inspection on each of the leg is similar but thorough, running his hands over the rises and lows along the strangely jointed limbs, feeling the hairs growing sparser before giving way to the hard, solid hooves. They are pure muscles, tendons and bones, all hard and springy textures: all for the sake of power in motion. Even without its levitation, Arceus will not find itself helplessly crippled. 

Ash finishes with the left back leg, then moves on upwards along it to the smooth flank and the rounded stomach. In a drastic contrast to the legs, Arceus’ belly is soft, the flesh giving in easily under his hands almost as if the hide is layered with fat underneath. Unlike the legs too, this part of it is all too sensitive; his first touch is already drawing out an accidental grunt. The noise encourages the Trainer to try more, the heel of his hands moving in circling motion. Arceus’ grunts become louder, approving his boldness and giving freedom to experiment with its body as he pleases; to scratch it with his fingers and trail his lips carefully along the curvature, taking care not to repeat the same mistake as he has done with the ears. Each touch seems to be wreathed in candle-flames that burn not the skin but the soul, rekindling its waning lust to surface; renewed and fresh from the leisurely pause. Every little brush from his mouth breathes stronger passion that swirls within it, washing through its veins and into its mind, bringing lewd visions before its eyes. 

Arceus licks its teeth. There will be time for it soon, oh yes. 

Ash’s Aura is rhythmical pulsations to the Legend’s senses, growing alive from the steady warmth when he began his exploration just now, throbbing as its body does to new stimulation being offered. It is good because it means that the Trainer derives his own enjoyment in the touching as he rightly should. His touch wanders; straying closer and closer to where its golden wheel is normally attached, coming tantalizingly close to the portions of grey furs that mark its groin… 

_-A moment, dear one,_ Arceus gasps. It is as much composure as can be snatched through its pressing need to moan. 

Ash immediately stops as if Arceus is issuing a warning. The rigidity in his posture bleeds away at Arceus’ gentle smile, comforting him from the unneeded fear. Somehow, he ends up in a prim, courteous kneeling which makes it amusing to watch the grimace on his face as his hardening erection becomes rather painful in the restrictive gap between his thighs. Arceus bodily pushes him down, coaxing him to sit and relieve himself from the discomfort… which is a good thing because it becomes apparent soon how desperately he needs the relief. Having satisfied itself on Ash’s welfare, Arceus repositions itself into a lazy sprawl before him, stretching its body and limbs languidly on the bed to display itself to his watching eyes whose pupils grow suddenly fat with disbelief. 

_-Yours,_ Arceus whispers, an edge of seductive purring to it - watching as the Ketchum, dazed by the offering and capable of only mesmerized staring without knowing what to do with the generous gift, is finally drawn into action by Arceus’ longing moans in waiting. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those older readers who are aware of the very first version posted on FFN, I apologize for being unable to find the original text, which is lost due to technical reasons. I've tried to re-write the scenes again, but I've been trying several times and still can't get it right, so I decided to post the version I have on FFN. 
> 
> Again, I'm very sorry...


	12. Morning Dialogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite his first time being with the Original One, Ash's morning continues without too much of the extraordinary except for the bit where he wakes up in a far-away castle in a far-away dimension...

Allowing for the fact that the coupling is a great success and that his Aura has imbibed some from the Original One, to be dreaming almost constantly in his sleep with said Legendary Pokémon as the main attraction is positively normal for Ash. 

Most of the dreams echo what has transpired to a varying degree of accuracy, again and again, with some tweaks here and there. In most of them, Arceus is Arceus: the white quadruped, possessing a face that casual onlookers will have hard time imagining capable of showing physical affection. Its tongue is like caressing hands on his clothed body which, as the dream goes on, is stripped of clothes one by one. Its inhuman eyes, as he has found out in the real world, are perfectly capable of conveying humanly emotions in their own ways. In a few instances, Arceus is the human woman whom he has seen in Michina’s Harvest Festival, as well as the seductive figure in the dream he had had in the train; coy yet alluring, like a charmer who knows exactly what she is capable of and in what ways she has affected the young man. Raven hair flicks in the soft wind around them as her lips kiss their teasing ways down his body. To his surprise though, there are also a handful few in which he has not been touched. Instead, he only sees a tall figure in the shadows with a physique which seems to suggest masculinity. As such, Ash is not able to see clearly but what he does glimpse consists of a chiselled face, fair-skinned hand which hints of his entire light complexion and ink-black hair. Extrapolating that all of his dreams feature the Creation Legend, Ash deduces that this is also a form which Arceus can wear, yet which it has not shown to the Trainer. 

Regardless of its forms, none of the dreams reach the stage where he has in reality. The furthest he achieves in his dreams is heavy petting – usually close to his groin – before his current dream rolls to a foggy end only for another to begin again. 

However, as much as Ash enjoys his erotic dreams, there is one dream in which he does not partake in any sort of sexual activity. The dream, which intrigues him deeper than his basal desire, is murky in the beginning before the shadows at the edges of his vision reveal the Legendary Pokemon. Here, Arceus appears as it is: a cervine creature, yet more animalistic in behaviours than it is in real life, if only in the ways it cautiously moves in the darkness, wanting to be acknowledged but reluctant to step into the light. 

“Hey,” he calls out in his dream. The simple word hooks the Original One’s attention from its silent pondering. “What are you doing there?” 

Instead of answering, Arceus-in-the-shadows reply, _-I want to come._

Ash sits down and pats the porcelain-white ground beside him. 

_-Do you want me to?_ Its inquiry is genuinely curious and, if Ash has not misjudged, a little afraid. 

“Yeah. Why won’t I?” He answers cheerfully, thinking that he has hid his disappointment well behind his smile. Why did Arceus need to ask him such things? 

Arceus is standing rigidly, no longer pacing. Judging from the glow of its eyes, it is staring exactly at him. In a way, it reminds him of the glare Arceus had once gave to Sheena upon finding out that the first Jewel of Life presented to it is, in fact, fake. _-You will have me there?_

Ash is being reminded much too much of his mother’s fussing which kind of creeps him out. “Stop asking, will you? Come over.” 

Arceus relents, though only with halting steps rather than glide as it usually does. In normal circumstances, Ash would have been proud that his perceptivity has grown to adapt to Arceus’ subtlest changes but right now, to know that what he sees is signs of tension is quietly stressing. 

He scoots closer to the Alpha Pokémon, finding himself a place beside its seated form. 

“What’s with that face?” It is surprisingly hard to be cheerful when Arceus is looking like that. 

Again, Arceus avoids giving a direct answer and replaces it with a nudge. Its breath ruffles his messy hair – only just now he realizes that he has not been wearing his cap. 

_-Stay,_ Arceus whispers solemnly. _-Please._

“I’m not leaving,” is his truthful answer. His hand finds its way easily to the lithe neck. Muscle flexes underneath his palm at the touch as Arceus nudges him more heartily. 

_-Stay,_ Arceus repeats as if the conviction has never been uttered. Its voice is that of a feline purr, rough yet somehow soothing despite the fact that Arceus itself is far from soothed. 

A Legendary Pokémon can be tiresome, Ash muses half-humorously. What is there to convince the Original One, after all has been said and done between them? Sure, their interactions are far less than what he would like but they are not exactly what one will call a normal couple either. A little deviation from usual expectations is expected anyhow. He leans his head against the Legend’s chest, substituting speech for touch when the former can offer little more confirmation than has already been given… 

…and wakes up to find himself alone on the expansive bed. 

It is too anticlimactic that Ash finds himself staring at the foreign ceiling for some time before his brain will accept that he is, after all, awake. Unlike in his dream, Ash is still lying down rather than sitting cross-legged on the dream-generated floor; a white silk-like fabric covers his body, almost too delicate to be considered using it as a blanket. The scent of sandalwoods from the burners which fills his nostrils further provides the confirmation. Gradually, he becomes aware of the tensing in his leg muscles though the rest of him feels quite normal. Did he really do it _that_ hard? It has looked so easy on-screen – He has never expected that humping is that much strenuous… 

Speaking of which – Where is Arceus? 

The absence of said Legendary Pokémon unnerves him for a split second before he forces himself to calm down. He is not in any sort of danger. Arceus can go wherever it wants in its own house-that-is-more-like-a-castle-than-anything, and he certainly does not have any right to tie the Pokémon down. 

Even then, it is subtly evident that Arceus does not simply leave him without thought of his being. 

He does not remember the silk-like blanket being present anywhere in the room before he and Arceus made love. It is brought for his sake; providing the human sufficient warmth even when the Legendary Pokémon is absent. The clothes which he has discarded in a rush lay in neatly folded squares, stacked upon each other at the far edge of the bed – somehow. It strikes him randomly that, despite Arceus’ manipulation of aura being fairly impressive, Ash cannot imagine it being used for such mundane and weirdly unconventional usage. Instead, this is a chore for hands and fingers. It is shocking enough that Arceus deigned to treat him in his sickness – and now, this? 

Trying not to think too much of that, Ash slips out of the sheet and begins to dress himself. A nameless tune whistles from his lips, half-consciously, before he realizes that the same melody has been sung to him by the Original One before he slept. Underneath it, Ash also recognizes a general pattern in the tune that distinctly mirrors the soothing lullaby-like notes of Oración – the song that calms raging hearts – and surprises himself with the realization. 

Ash gives a wondering stare at the incense burner closest to him. White mist slithers from the holes on its surface, suffusing the room with an aroma of spices and herbal woody scents. 

_That thing clears my mind more than I thought,_ he notes. Not that he has any problem with it, seeing that his main flaw usually involves him not thinking as much as he should. 

He finishes dressing himself quickly, all the while wondering where Arceus has gone and when it is going to come back. Though no longer worried, the Trainer still does not settle well with being alone. He rarely is, usually having Pikachu for company. 

His Pokémon, left to roam in the forest-like garden, springs into his mind following the thought of his Pikachu. The rest of them are used to his absence so he cannot imagine them being too worried about him being away. Even Pikachu himself has acknowledged him being with Arceus. However, Ash supposes it will not hurt to find and visit them rather than wait for who knows how long in the bed. Arceus has not forbidden him to walk around, at any rate. 

However, Ash is quick to find out that making the decision is far easier than following through it, especially in a place as wonky as Arceus’ home. 

The door is not the problem. Though heavy, the touch of his fingertip is apparently sufficient to activate whatever mechanism – whether physical or magical – responsible in opening and closing it. The panels swing open noiselessly without further involvement from the Trainer other than his initial finger-brush. His problem begins once he finds himself standing amidst the sky-corridor, with its drifting clouds and sunless light, but without the slightest indication as to where he should go. Ash remembers, albeit vaguely, of turning left once he exited the bedchamber and following the hallway until he met the huge garden gate just outside the passage. Ash follows the remembered course as closely as he can yet, try as he may, he does not seem to make any progress whatsoever. 

_I was sure I didn’t turn around,_ he thinks dejectedly as he finds himself, once again, end up in front of the bedroom’s door. 

This is not a conventional lost-in-a-maze circumstance, not when it has been the third – or fourth, he cannot remember exactly – that he finds himself back here. The place seems to double back on itself, its space folding as if he is within the curve of a sphere. 

_It was like Alamos Town all over again._

He shivers at the recollection, whose only redeeming quality is its relatively happy ending when the town is returned to normal. 

Palkia’s powers had once removed said town from its location to a strange dimensional void that no one could escape from. Fog-bound, the edges of Alamos were lost in a way that anyone who tried to brave through the blinding haze found themselves inexplicably where they started. Prolonged removal had nearly wiped the town from existence before Palkia restored it back to where it was. In contrast, Arceus’ palace, it seems, is stable compared to the displaced Alamos. There are no signs of decay which had plagued the town before Palkia and Dialga made peace with each other, which calms him, but the thought of navigating a place which defies conventional senses is in itself terrifying. 

Unfortunately, giving up is not an option either. 

Having arrived before the golden door for what seems like close to the tenth time, Ash decides to wait for Arceus after all – which comes as a nasty surprise when he pushes the door-leaves open and finds himself staring… into absolute darkness. 

The room – with all the furniture and decorations within – are gone. 

His first thought connects the darkness to the one he traversed with Dialga in-between the various Closed Worlds. The emptiness exuded from those Celestial Bridges have been depressing, even sickening; the disappeared room before him holds the same feeling on a smaller scale, yet still very much unsettling. 

“What is this…?!” He chokes on his words, feeling as if his lungs were suctioned of more air than necessary when he speaks. A vision of a lightless depth at the very bottom of the sea fills his mind despite the lack of something to behold before him. Despite the emptiness, he cannot help but feel a pressing weight of something unseen on his consciousness. 

Ash stumbles back. His head is heavy; dizzy in a way that signals imminent fainting from lack of oxygen. The door panels are ajar before him, its darkness suffocating; his messed eyesight presents an illusion of hazy edges that writhes with intention to snatch him back into its depth – 

_-Close your eyes, Ash._

A comforting warmth descends over him at the same moment he obeys the whispered voice in his ears and in his head. He lets himself go limp and a solid presence catches him from behind, preventing his fall from becoming a painful collapse. 

“…I didn’t realize you are here,” he murmurs, comforted. A familiar crooning and a translucent purple veil surrounding him confirm his guess. 

Through half-lidded eyes, Ash watches as the door panels drift shut, closing with a definitive _click_ although there is no lock visible to him. The flowing caress of its tactile aura over his skin is now a peculiar shade of pink: a mid-ground in its turning from purple to gold. He twists himself slightly to the side to take in the view of the Legendary Pokémon better – now back to its usual appearance who towers over him, complete with the golden wheel ringing its flank – and realizes that the hard, metallic surface against which he lies turns out to be the hoof of its right front leg. 

Arceus’ head descends to his level, its scoffing snort releasing a breath that ruffles his hair. _-Why is it that you are always poking your nose into impossible places?_

Despite its remark, there is no hint of real anger in its voice and mannerism, the latter which includes cat-like nuzzles and observative nudges for physical injury. Ash is feeling much better already, thanks to Arceus’ golden aura soothing what remains of his discomfort from staring into the darkness. 

“That’s not my fault. I didn’t expect to walk straight into some – some black-space-room thingy –” 

_-Trust it to you to wander to this room, of all the places…_ Again, there is no admonishment to be heard from the Legendary Pokémon. Its teasing air, however, has deepened into a quiet concern. _-That room is a small pocket dimension similar to the ones the Lake Guardians reside in. It is not a place for humans to be near it unprotected._

Ash naturally wonders why something like that is part of its home décor but his curiousity is swiftly answered once his face begins to look puzzled. 

_-It makes for an ideal training ground. Wide space for movements; empty, to avoid collateral damages._

“Training? What training?” 

_-You do not think that I would have allowed my martial skills rot over the centuries, do you?_

Ash never gives much thought into it before this but it makes sense, once he stops to ponder on it. Its powers are terrifying, true, but Arceus also displayed more than brute strength in its fight against the Dragon Trio in the cancelled timeline. The prowess which has dominated Dialga, Palkia and Giratina in the battlefield could not have come with sitting idle on its rump. The memory is inevitably chilling – to see the mighty Dragons defeated as if they were nothing and beaten for their mercy on the humans and knowing that the same viciousness would be unleashed upon the humans next – but the concerned butting from its forehead sharply opposes Ash’ reflexive fear of the Legendary Pokémon. 

_-In any case, I am glad that you are awake,_ Arceus quickly interrupts, sensing a minute taint of fear in his moods. It will not do if it is allowed to grow and bother him, or if he recognizes his misplaced fear and be just as bothered by the realization. 

Unceremoniously, Arceus drops to lie down beside him right in the corridor. What is still left of its aura writhes around the Trainer; cuddling him with the Legend’s compulsion to soothe. While it can be fun to tease and be cared for by the Original One, there is an anxiety in its manners that Ash dislikes. 

“Hey, no harm done, Arceus.” He reaches above him to twirl his finger in one of the longer locks on its throat. Arceus croons more loudly, expressing pleasure in his treatments. 

_-My apologies. I have thought that you will still be asleep when I come back to you…_ Its nuzzles and little licks are telling Ash that his wandering causes worry for the Original One only in aspect of his own well-being rather than because he is breaking rules, if there are any. Sometimes, it appears that Arceus is far more anxious to please him rather than the other way round. 

“By the way, what you’ve been up to before you came to find me?” 

Arceus casts a look of disbelief as if the answer is too obvious for the question to be asked in the first place. Ash allows himself a little satisfaction in managing to distract the Legend from some pointless worrying. 

_-Why, tending to your Pokémon, of course._

“Huh? 

_-You are their Trainer. At least, I am obligated to keep them updated._

“Do you have to? It’s not like I’ve been gone for a long time…” 

_-Nonsense. Your responsibility to them is my own as well if you cannot fulfil them. It will not do if I keep them waiting unnecessarily._

Somehow, this seemingly apparent commitment touches the young man. Beside the sex itself, Arceus has been blatant about its earnestness in their relationship and worded everything carefully and clearly (which is good since his skull is sadly thick), but to show it in this almost offhanded fashion implies naturalness to the action that ought not to be debated. 

A polite touch to his shoulder makes him turn around to face the Original One. _-Do you wish to see them?_

“Sure I do.” He is beginning to miss the lot of them, especially his Pikachu, but something else is nagging at him at the moment. “Though… I rather clean myself first, you know.” 

It is more of a psychological thing than anything else since he neither appears nor feels particularly dirty. It simply feels weird not having a bath after his love-making with the Legendary Pokémon. As its response, Arceus uncoils a string of purplish aura which places the Ketchum onto its back. Though taken by surprise, Ash’s hands wrap around the neck in a reflexive hug to secure himself as Arceus floats away from the shut door. 

“Arceus?” 

_-There is a bathhouse that you can use, if you like._

Oh yes, he is indeed lavishly pampered by the Original One. Just the fact that it has ‘house’ in its name recalls an image of a ginormous bathing space that is more than fit for a king’s use. From what he has seen so far of Arceus’ domain, his imagination may not be far from the truth. Everything is enlarged to gigantic proportion that some getting used to is in order everytime he beholds something new in the palace. 

As it is with the garden, Ash remembers little of the journey other than the sky-corridor itself. He decides to just go with the flow, assuming that asking will only yield an answer that is too complicated for his brain to grasp even if Arceus is willing to do the extensive explaining. As expected, the huge door – nearly identical to the one which contains the black space except for the fine aquamarine streaks that frame the panels – still momentarily baffles the Ketchum despite his mental preparation and self-reminder. Rather than the unsettling darkness he encountered before, this door opens to a luxurious looking bathing space with a pool roughly thrice the size of that found in Misty’s Cerulean Gym. The fact that its size is comprehensible is in itself puzzling to the Trainer, seeing that other structures in the place reaches a size where it is possible to contain a microecosystem within. He points this out to Arceus, who merely flicks its head as if shrugging dismissively. 

_-It_ is _a bathing pool. If I wish for a larger water body, there is always the Circle Lake._

Ash immediately decides that the so-called lake is closer to the size of Earth’s smaller seas if what passes for a recreational pool here is fit for large-scale swimming competition. He is set down near the water’s edge; a perfect reflection of himself stares from the mirror-smooth surface which is only minutely disturbed by the distant breaths of the Original One. Dipping a toe in it and breaking the image into thousands of scattered pixels, Ash is not surprised to discover that the water is not warm – he can see no steam at the surface – but it is neither cold, merely cool in a way water is when left in a shade. 

The vast pool tempts him into stripping which he does with impunity until he begins to unfasten his belt. A sudden bout of embarrassment catches him off-guard at the notion of being nude before Arceus, whereupon his mind cheerfully supplies the result of him unclothed the previous time. Images from his recent, jumbled dreams play in his mind like stills from an erotic slideshow, all steamy bodies and tangled limbs frantically trying to claim territories on each other’s skin, kisses and caresses which last into eternity – 

Suddenly, his jeans feel like a torturous prison about his groin. The rustle of the coarse fabric on his flesh, even through his undershorts, makes him gasp and jump from the unexpected sensation. 

Arceus would have raised an eyebrow if it has one. _-You are still wanting? You are quite insatiable._

Arceus will really burn him with embarrassment if it keeps this up! 

“I’m not!” He blurts out defensively even though he knows better. Frantically, he turns his back towards the Original One to hide his condition even though such a thing is useless by now. His face suddenly feels steaming-hot as he confuses himself with the working of his belt. 

Arceus is behind him in a second; golden aura entangles him in the next. 

“Arceus –” He begins but its harsh breath tickles the nape of his neck with exciting warmth. Ash struggles to swallow his own collecting saliva while the tip of a tongue slithers along his neck and tentatively flits around his lower jaw. 

_-You_ really _are quite tempting but…_

The aura slowly, lazily meanders around him: From his head and down to his neck, entwining his arms and fingers with ethereal glow that spreads to his chest and abdomen. Eventually, it finishes the flow to his feet and returns to the Pokémon in forked endings. To his surprise, Ash’s budding lust subsides the longer he is embraced in the golden light until it vanishes altogether, his penis becoming relaxed as if he has not felt any sort of stimulation previously. 

_-I rather not take the chance,_ it replies to Ash’s inquiry behind its calming effects. _-As much as I would like a repeat performance, I may end up asking more than what you can give._

Despite himself, he bristles minutely at the comment. 

“I’m not…w-weak!” 

-You certainly are not, Arceus agrees, surprising the Ketchum, _-but seeing that you have ended up sleeping for two straight days, you cannot blame me for being cautious._

“It’s not like I’m going to –” He stops and does a double-take at Arceus’ nonchalance. “Wait – TWO days…?” 

_-Well, it would be if I synchronize the time flow to Earthly realm but –_

“I slept for TWO DAYS…?!” 

While Ash can only manages what he internally calls an idiotic gaping, Arceus gives him an odd yet fond look. _-It is inevitably taxing when you mate a Legend, dear one._

It is, Ash decides, kind of a little bit like sugar rush when making love to a Legendary Pokémon if Ash understands Arceus – at least, with those of high-tier powers. The influx of Auras is a parallel to the intake of sugar in this case, invigorating the participants during the act but the mortal one of the pair will be left drained once the mating is concluded. Though his pride is somewhat mended by the assurance, his dismay persists. 

“But that won’t do at all, would it? I mean, if I ended conked out cold for days every time –” 

_-It WAS your first,_ Arceus reminds him comfortingly. _-We will get used to each other over time._

Arceus is being polite about it, of course, but it also views the topic as a foregone conclusion or something that it has long anticipated and prepared to adapt to. Its casual tone is sufficient to convey the finality of its opinion on the matter. Ash obediently discards the topic, albeit with certain reluctance, and continues with his undressing and steps out of the puddle of his jeans, leaving only his boxer still on his body. 

There are no stairs for access into the pool. Instead, the ‘shore’ deepens gradually with distance to its full depth halfway to the centre of the pool. Ash wades through the still water until he finds himself able to completely submerge. He proceeds a little further with a combination of paddling and swimming until his feet are off the bottom, whence his natural buoyancy keeps his head above the waterline. 

From the dry ground of the poolside, Arceus watches with a characteristic tilting of its head; a vaguely avian gesture that usually shows its curiosity. 

Ash raises a hand and signals a thumbs-up, then makes a quick dive to wet his hair. The cool water on his skin is massively refreshing and Ash resurfaces with a burst, revelling in the sprinkling of water droplets around him. His laughter is irrepressible. 

“Arceus, it feels great!” He shouts, swimming with lazy backstrokes back to the waiting Pokémon. 

It does not feel at all like having just wakened up from a two-day sleep. Truthfully, he is not tired whatsoever. In fact, he feels great, healthy in every way – and even enthusiastic. It may very well be that there is a bit left of that sugar-rush effect. 

“See, Arceus? I don’t look tired or anything, right?” He paddles up to the shallower waters and lay down on his back. He is close enough here that he does not have to shout to be heard, and the Original One’s expression is readily visible. 

_-Are you still upset over it?_ Again with the forehead-touch on his shoulder; it is like Arceus is trying to make it as formal as possible. _-I am only being careful. If I turn out to be wrong… well, we can think of something to do then._

“I know.” 

Disliking the new propriety, Ash foregoes it altogether and presses a surprise kiss under its eye. If he had retained his arousal, Ash presumes that the kiss will not be as innocent as it is. When he pulls away, he does so only slightly that his nose is still touching its face. “I’m glad that you care for me. But I don’t like it when you’re acting like you’re on a tightrope.” 

An uncertain Arceus makes a peculiar sight to the Ketchum who is used to its more authoritative side. For a moment, he fears that Arceus does not appreciate having its decision contended, even in a very mild manner as it is. 

“Trust me a little, please?” 

_-…You are right, Ash. I am sorry,_ it says without a trace of the expected protest. To his surprise, the Legendary Pokemon pushes itself to him, closing distance between them until his bare chest meets the warm, metallic point of its forehead. _-I simply do not want my impatience to undo everything we have achieved._

Ash can’t decide whether he sounds sulky or excited at the prospect of more time with Arceus. “I’ve said it before: You’re overthinking it. It’s not good stressing yourself over it.” 

_-I see. You are not giving me a choice to argue over it, are you?_

“Nope.” 

Right there and then, to Ash’s surprise, he is washed over by a series of wave… only to realize that these are not made of water. Arceus’ passive aura surges, a thousand emotions condensed, but the water around him ripples only from his movements, not the Legend’s. He wonders briefly – partly in fear, mostly curious – what it means before a light pressure lands on his forehead. 

-If only I can be as unworried about it as you are… 

“Nah, most people I met said that I’m too careless for my own good.” 

_-All the same… Most people would not even consider a Pokémon for a mate. Perhaps I should be thankful to your so-called carelessness._

Ash sighs dreamily, basking in the now-retracted aural emanations. Arceus’ kiss on his forehead remains, however, and the breaths exhaled creates a gentle gust that warms his face. 

“So… can you take off… whatever you put on me just now?” 

_-…I cannot; it was my Aura, assimilated into you to soothe but not restrain. The effect will wear out in a few hours though._

“Alright, we’ll wait. Just so you know though, you owe me.” 

_-…Very well._

The touch on his forehead is followed by a moist trail of its tongue, tracing unrecognizable lines on his skin. The gesture, intimate yet still decent for its standard, conveys a deep wanting and an equally deep concern. 

Always concerned, always fearful. Ash does not expect to change it, only lessen the more unnecessary edges. 

Ironically, its seriousness often draws the opposite from the Trainer. Perhaps it is his instinct to keep it from being too sombre. 

“Hey, stop being so gloomy.” He thrusts his hand underwater, flinging it as if he is about to lob a ball backwards; the resulting splash soaks his drying body and Arceus’ face which has remained stationary in its forehead-kiss. 

_-I am NOT._

Arceus does not draw away as he expects. However, a bright glow in its eyes alerts him to the change in its hues. The irises remain red but the green background flashes blue for a couple of seconds, quick enough that Ash may have easily dismissed it as a trick on his own eyes. 

Until a wave of water crashes over him, that is. 

There is no warning at all. Ash is suddenly engulfed by a rogue wave that comes from who-knows-where when the pool has been perfectly still just a few seconds ago. Instinctively struggling for breath, the water somehow recedes as soon as he is about to make the mistake of gasping when he would have still been underwater. He splutters with imagined inhalation of liquid only to find that air, not water, which fills his throat. 

“Hey, that’s just unfair!” He coughs, still half-dazed by the sudden brief drowning but clearly aware of what has just happened. “Damn Multitypes.” 

He utters the last word with the same nuance as others will a curse. It is grossly biased that he, a human, is unable to use even the simplest Water-typed tricks when Arceus can change its very Typing freely across the board. 

Arceus glows bright, its amusement evident. 

The glow then becomes brighter, heralding more than just manifestation of its mood. It glows in a specific pattern – a pattern Ash has seen for the first time in a circumstance less favourable than what he is in now, and recognizes it for what it is. 

When Arceus’ body dims, all of the coloured portions of its body are in various shades of blue, save for the red irises. The water in which he is immersed thrums with invisible energy like Furfrou’s sudden alertness to the humanly inaudible shrill of a canine whistle. 

“I haven’t see you changed Types for a while,” Ash remarks, wondering why Arceus activates its Splash Plate. Arceus gives no reply to it, not verbally, but the water surrounding him moves to an unnatural current that carries him to the deeper part of the pool. Naturally, Ash expects rebuke of some sort but Arceus follows after him, stepping on the surface as if it does so on solid floor, each contact of its hoof-tip creating ripples on the water. Arceus’ mastery over water proves to be more refined in this forme, more instinctive and controlled than just the raw force required to initiate an attack. Ash lets himself float on, in complete confidence that Arceus will not let him sink, and indulges in the soothing coolness of the water flowing around him. 

Soon, the current ceases; Ash kicks himself upright in the water, his hands fluttering to keep him afloat, and watches as Arceus descends beside him, hardly disturbing the water as it does. The pool is not yet at its deepest here but enough so to nearly submerge the Original One, leaving only a thin strip of its back exposed on the surface. He swims the short distance to the Pokémon; the lower protrusion on its neck serves as a convenient handhold. Arceus’ white furs cling tightly to the underlying skin, creating an illusion of a sleek, smooth hide in the glistening wetness. 

Grinning playfully, his hands drawing abstract patterns on the wet hairs, Ash says, “This is not going to pay for it. You still owe me.” 

_-I wouldn’t presume._ Its neck comes to rest along the surface while Ash makes a swim for the lowered head. A brief glow marks its changing back to its normal Forme, the wheel reassuming its golden appearance, as does Arceus’ underside regaining its grey colouration. _-And it is still too early to try anything else at the moment… but I would love to just be with you._

Ash does not blush but his ears do warm up by a degree or two. “You’re quite the romantic, aren’t you?” 

_-I have never denied it._

His hand tugs gently on its lower jaw. Unresisting, Arceus yields itself to the Trainer’s bold, open-mouthed kiss, its head an anchor for Ash in the fluid environment with little else to hold on to. Despite Arceus’ earlier efforts, a faint tingle sparks between his legs as their tongues find and curl around each other but it is still too weak to grow into a true arousal. 

Ash dislikes the restrain but he is already pushed underwater while their kiss lengthens, deepens into teasing bites and licks, passionate but merely playful. The bottom is a long way down but Arceus lifts a front leg to meet him halfway before he reaches an uncomfortable depth: hard muscle wound about dense bone against the human’s back. Water presses against his eardrums but Ash does not care much about it, not even for his shortening breath – Arceus provides more than enough for him once he begins to gasp, their breaths circulating between them. 

The restrain holds fast, unfortunately. 

Even so, it is a long time before Ash swims his way back to the surface with Arceus beside him, looking inordinately pleased for what they can still gather in their limitedness.


	13. Surprise Visitations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise can come in many flavours...

_“Unable to reach the dialled number. Please try again later,”_ says the smoothly feminine pre-programmed voice from the Holocaster’s in-built speakers. Brock flips the switch, shutting off the device with a sigh. 

“Probably off battling”, he mutters to no one in particular but Croagunk replies nevertheless, surprising Brock into jumping from his bed and preparing himself instinctively for a Poison Jab. Croagunk continues to growl indifferently. He does not need the use of human language to convey _what an idiot_ message to his Trainer. Brock decides not to make a comment on it – he is too used to his Pokémon’s behaviours to take offense. 

“You should be in your ball, Croagunk.” He swears that Croagunk must have broken free just for the satisfaction of scaring the crap out of him. Fortunately, the frog Pokémon has no issue with Pokéball and returns to it the moment he is presented with said item. 

Carefully laying down his bag and Pokéballs side-by-side, Brock begins to change out of his day clothing, now filthy with dirt, sap and berry juices he has invariably accumulated during the day’s searching of berries in Alamos’ vast garden, unaware to the fact that the one Brock is trying to call is in a dimension so far away from Earth that only the grace of Dialga enables the feat. Of course, such idea is beyond one’s normal assumption so Brock easiest guess involves Ash disabling his Holocaster for a heated Trainer battle or something. Still, the man is distinctly baffled that his Holocaster comes out with response that essentially means that the Ketchum is off limit rather than simply shutting his Holocaster’s line. 

In no time, Brock is already beginning to forget his mild puzzlement as he lays himself on the cot. Alice and Tonio have been kind hosts to him, providing him a place to stay in their house and having him join them at their table to eat together. If he needs to use computer, Tonio is never hesitant to let him use it and Alice is similarly glad to take him to where he needs to be – particularly useful when he is at loss with the locations of berries of interest. He learns cooking using simple ingredients and berries as well from Alice, apparently recipes that comes from her mother and grandmother. Maybe he can try out his own modified recipes as well and treat his hosts; or perhaps it is wiser to ask Alice’s opinions first when experimenting with new combinations of berries… 

A shadow passes outside his window. 

Brock’s half-asleep thoughts degenerate into nightmares. The berries he imagines being held in his hands transform into bloody worms, wriggling in his hands and biting his fingers in an attempt to escape. His flesh nibbled away, white bones begin to show through in the mess of tattered meat and bloody veins – 

There is a sound, distant and rough, and it takes a while to realize that it is a human sound: screams, though it is only after he finds himself already awake with a sore throat that he realizes that the scream has been his own. Though unnerved and very much disoriented at the hazy borderline between dreams and reality, there are enough to work on that Brock arrives easily to the correct assumption behind his sudden nightmare. 

“Darkrai,” he mutters. Just the thought of the Pokémon sends chill down his spine in the aftermath of his horrible dream, a reminder why the Pitch-Black Pokémon holds such a fearsome reputation behind its name. 

Yet, Darkrai has never shown particular animosity towards anything – quite the opposite, in fact. It has been instrumental in Alamos’ defence throughout the battle between Dialga and Palkia. Alice and her ancestor have been friends to it before, and they are still now. Even though his interaction with the Pokémon is limited, Brock has never suffered from nightmares throughout his stay here… until just now. 

There comes a sound of broken glasses from upstairs, followed by a high, piercing scream which cuts off all too abruptly. He is leaping out of his bed without a second thought, snatching his belt-laden Pokéballs out of instinctual habit more than conscious thought, and rushes out of his room and up the winding stairs as fast as his legs can carry him. That he is in a tank top and knee-high shorts matters little to him as his imagination gets the best of him, fuelled by fear of the unknown and the nightmare-trace from Darkrai. There is no doubt that the voice is Alice’s and thoughts of whatever circumstances which may have induced her into such horrified screaming only doubles the pace of his feet and his heart. Having no idea what to expect, Brock prepares himself mentally for whatever sights that may greet him – and still he is momentarily stunned at what he finds whereupon arriving on the balcony of the second floor. 

Alice is there, as expected; kneeling and shivering, yet seemingly unharmed and wide awake. A translucent dark cloud hovers above and around her, shapeless except for the swath of white smoke atop a vaguely shaped head, encircled in a more solid-looking red collar. His first thought is simple and reflexive – that somehow, for some reasons, Darkrai is now turning against its friend and is harming her with the power of its nightmares. Croagunk has broken out of his Pokéball even as Brock is reaching for another one, perhaps sensing his Trainer’s need for assistance, but they are stopped from acting further by Alice’s weakened shout. 

“…No, don’t! It’s not Darkrai…!” 

Swanna and Emolga are unleashed in quick succession, just in time as they both screech defiantly and counter the oncoming rush of darkness with a Wing Attack and Thunder Shock respectively. To their collective surprise, this shadowy form proves NOT to be Darkrai, who has not moved from its spot, but rather something else. The best way Brock can describe the attacker is saying it to be a vaguely human-shaped smoke with a barely discernible body that ended in a misty blob rather than legs; a semi-tangible blackness which appears disturbingly close in appearance to the protective Darkrai, yet it moves less like a shadow but like that of mist crawling from a lake in the obscurity of an early dawn. Its smoky form is darker than the Pitch-Black Pokémon; its every move producing faint crackles that bring to mind millions of tiny bones being cracked one after another. It possesses no eyes that Brock can conceive, no particular structure to its visage on the loosely formed head – if head it is really meant to be – but a curving rip in the ‘face’ makes for an impression of a maniacal grin, cold enough to bring ice into Brock’s spine. It whirls and swirls in the air on its legless figure, smoky hand-like limbs trailing in its wake; like a vulture circling over a dying prey, waiting expectantly for the feast to begin. 

Swanna, Emolga and Croagunk position themselves defensively before Brock, the sounds coming from their varied throats being that of warning, and the shadow strikes again but Darkrai is faster: with half of its body still coiled protectively around Alice, the remaining of it extends towards them and deflects the alien shadow mid-dive with a whipping motion, effectively protecting Brock and his Pokémon whilst still standing guard to Alice. Each advance of the shadowy form is repeatedly foiled by Darkrai who proves to be superior in speed: they meet and coalesce around one another disturbingly for a fraction of seconds before separating, almost as if they are magnets of polar opposites. 

The disturbing grin persists, a mocking contrast to its adversary’s partially concealed face. 

_-Go away!_

Darkrai’s hollow voice rings out angrily as it counters yet another attack, emphasizing its warning with a slash from its hand, rending the ghost into incoherent, smoke-like blackness. For a few moments, it seems as if the tear does indeed hurt the shadowy form; its black mouth loses the grin and opens wide in a soundless cry whilst the rends mend themselves slowly, black strings stitching across the gap. If there are indeed eyes in the head, the ghost is undoubtedly glaring at the Pitch-Black Pokémon, either in anger or in fear, before it decides that this is not a battle that it can win for tonight and makes its escape. Hugging the floor of the balcony, the ghost slinks away like the oozing of viscuous oil, expertly dodging Darkrai’s limbs as it shoots out in an attempt to spear the ghost in place and prevent its escape. Through the pillars of the balcony it squeezes, the ghost creeps down to the ground floor and vanishes into the lengthening shadows of the bushes in the yard. With a swooshing sound, Darkrai uncoils and reshapes itself into its usual form; two stilt-like projections extend down to serve as temporary legs as the Legendary Pokémon stands before the kneeling Alice. Its singly visible blue eye is fixed upon Brock intently. 

_-Keep her safe._

So saying, Darkrai becomes rather eerily similar in form to the vanished ghost, and flies off in pursuit of its creeping quarry. 

For a few seconds, there are only Alice’s broken sobs to fill in the sudden quietness of the place before Brock comes to himself. Leaving his Pokémon out, he rushes over to the woman and kneels beside her. 

“Are you alright?” 

She nods, wiping tears and sweats frantically off her face. “…They were angry.” 

“’They’?” 

“The ghost. The smoke. Whatever that is,” she clarifies through fear-broken voice. “Darkrai was quick but that… that _thing_ managed to get a hold of me before Darkrai drove it back. It was only for a second; my finger touched it –” 

She stops to hug her arms around her as if to stop herself from her instinctive shudder. A drop of tear falls despite her efforts which she wipes away almost angrily. 

“My finger touched it,” her voice quavers but her expression shows a complex mixture of bafflement, fear and curiousity. “I don’t know how to tell you, but it… it _feels_ like there’s more than just one – entity? – in there. I heard voices like people talking in a cave but I can’t hear what they’re saying.” 

She refuses to say anything more. Neither does Brock find it in himself to upset Alice even more than she is right now. The silence weighs heavily around them as if the thing’s presence has left an unseen burden in the atmosphere. 

A thought sparks in Brock’s mind suddenly. “Wait here.” 

He sounds sterner than he means to but it cannot be helped. At least, it sufficiently disguises his newfound worry as he beckons Croagunk to join him, leaving Swanna and Emolga to guard the stricken woman. His Serperior is still with him in the Pokéball if he needs a back-up, he consoles himself; still, his heart seems to be in his throat rather than in the ribcage as he sprints the short length of the corridor and unceremoniously bursts into one of the seemingly identical doors on the floor. 

He knows exactly where Tonio’s study is. As far as he knows, the man usually turns in late because of trying to finish his works and the study is the commonest place he can be found when absorbed in his businesses. It enlightens him that Tonio can be seen standing defiantly when the door panels are forcibly opened. A window is opened, in which direction the physicist is staring. The grips of his fists are intense enough to drain blood from his knuckles, making his skin there sickly pale from the pressure. 

“Tonio?” Brock ventures cautiously; a hand is kept ready on the Serperior’s Pokéball. Beside him, Croagunk is crouched in a preparation for a leap but holds his place warily. 

Tonio turns from the window. The eyes glimpsed behind the askew spectacles are haunted, alive with fear, but thankfully _aware._ He shivers, in fact appearing close to collapse, but he stubbornly holds on. The skin on his arms and face is shiny with cold sweats. 

Pushing the glasses back into place, Tonio whispers, “You’ve seen it too?” 

  


  
*****

  


There is a certain degree of unfairness, Arceus muses internally, in the fact that the responsibility for incarceration is expected of itself while Ash freely goads the Legend with prospects it would have _dearly_ loved to carry through. Then again, Arceus has foreseen such complexity long before it was able to overcome its misgiving. The real difficulty, in fact, rises from the Trainer’s eager willingness when so _much_ worries the Alpha Legend. 

True, it has been Arceus’ decision to smother the Trainer’s lust for the time being but Arceus cannot help but begrudge its own responsibility to hold itself back. In a similar vein, Arceus longs the freedom of his companion Magical Creatures to gambol and caper around him unhindered; they have minimal worry that their sizes will flatten him, or if their innate powers becoming too overwhelming for their Trainer, as can be witnessed clearly when Arceus returns him to the forest-garden where his companions have been left. 

As soon as he slides down from Arceus’ back, Noctowl is soaring towards him from the shadows and lands on the grassy turf at the same time as his feet touch the ground. While the owl Pokémon has the sense and dignity to avoid knocking him down, Pikachu has no such inhibition and leaps from the bird’s back to sort-of-face-hug his Trainer, ignoring the fact doing so leaves Ash flat on his back. Thankfully, Sawsbuck and Feraligatr simply crowd around their Trainer rather than depriving him of much-needed oxygen once Pikachu is satisfied with his greeting while Espeon, being gentler than the electric rodent, nuzzles his thigh indulgently for attention. 

“Yeah, I miss you guys too,” he answers to his Pokémon’s non-verbal expressions. Although he does not expect to be received by his Pokémon with this level of enthusiasm, Ash relents himself to be further smothered in their combined attentions. 

Throughout the exchanges, Arceus quietly slips into the background to watch the Trainer and his Pokémon without making itself a hindrance. A dangerous seed that Arceus knows will grow into jealousy if it is nurtured tries to find roots; the Legend gives an internal snort and discards the notion out of its mind. Legends are possessive, true, but this kind of concern will not bring benefit to either of them. It is pleasingly strange to Arceus that such a small body is able to house enough love for them all and in different manners as appropriate. 

Trailed by his Pokémon, Ash raises himself up from the ground and approaches Arceus. His Pikachu, in fact, is draping himself over the Trainer’s head as if it never wants to let go. Needless to say, his already unruly hair is now a complete disaster. 

“I haven’t seen them this excited for some time,” he grumbles half-heartedly; pulling Pikachu into his lap while he seats himself beside Arceus. Indulging his Pokémon’s antics has apparently messed with his clothing as much as his hair, creasing his pants at inappropriate places and creating new crumpling in his shirt. 

Despite his words, Ash’s expression does not show that he minds the change in his appearance that much. 

Arceus twitches its ears in amusement. _-For some reason, it seems that they are all enthusiastic to know that you have finally mated._

“Yeah, well.” He shrugs, showing uneasiness and discomfort together in the simple gesture. “I’ve never been good when it comes to things like these. I guess even my own Pokémon got tired watching me going about it clueless. I mean, just look at those other guys…” 

Without really meaning to, Ash irrevocably launches into a lengthy lamentation in his – apparently – lesser ‘traits’ when compared to his childhood friend-turned-rival-turned-friend-again, one Gary Oak, who has females clinging to his hips before he even got his first Pokémon. If not him ( _“He’s a step up from my league,”_ Ash bemoans), then his other friends had found their ways into beds long before Ash began contemplating doing something about his virginity. 

Truthfully, Arceus does not really grasp the drawbacks in this. Arceus itself did not care for a romance for much of its long, long life before Ash crashed into the scene. However, he and Arceus are not even of the same species – there are some matters which are measured differently between them. Fearing that this may be so, Arceus tries to ignore the biting uneasiness in its conscience to ask him. 

_-…You do not regret it, do you?_

“Eh?” His eyes are glazed in the same manner they always do when Ash is hopelessly confounded. 

_-Would you rather have your first time with a human female?_

Jealousy surges the moment Arceus finishes the question, so powerfully that it feels very much like being stabbed. It has not occurred to the Legend that the thought of him loving a woman will hurt as such; not after Arceus has staked its claim on the Trainer. 

“What?” Confusion quickly gives way to clarity. “No, of course not! It’s not that!” 

Seeing Pikachu’s tail plonking the back of his head is simultaneously satisfying in a twisted way, and concerning – it does look a little bit forceful. 

“Pikachu – stop – _Ow, that hurts!_ – Oh, will you –” 

The next half-a-minute is invested to soothing the Pokémon while trying to avoid further hits from its tail before Ash is left free to speak again. 

“Arceus, I didn’t mean it that way.” It _must_ have hurt quite badly. Surrendering to its more powerful instinct, Arceus draws him in and carefully nuzzles his scalp, infusing the lowest level of its Aura into its breath to wash away the soreness. He thanks Arceus for the relief and continues, blithe to the little guilt squirming in the Legend for the earlier thoughts. “I guess… it’s sort of follow-the-leader thing. A trend or something. It was kinda embarrassing when your friends already got laid once or twice, and you’re still on your own.” 

“But my mom said something else. She didn’t mind it that much if I happened to find a girl that I, uh, wanna do it with, you know. She _also_ said that it’s alright to wait for the _right_ girl to come along.” 

He smiles sheepishly. “That’s the most embarrassing talk I’ve had in my life, I swear.” 

_-…I see. I suppose a Legendary Pokémon was not exactly someone you would consider a candidate, no?_

“Not then, anyway. I’ve had some crushes with girls I met, sure, but no one really had that… that feeling. I don’t know how to say it exactly.” His fingers, wandering in lazy paths across its chest, reaffirm into sure strokes that follow the ventral streaks on its grey furring. “It’s taken some time but I don’t regret it. Not at all. I wouldn’t give you up for anything in the world.” 

It is doubly foolish of Arceus to even have thought of asking the question when Ash, who has more at stake in their pairing than the Legend, expresses no doubt whatsoever in his decision. In the solitude of its mind, it berates itself for its weakness while aloud, it says instead, _-Where have you heard that line?_

Ash giggles, hiding his embarrassment behind his sweet, oh so very sweet smile. “There was a song… I forgot the title though. Doesn’t mean that I wasn’t talking the truth.” 

Arceus agrees with him, both parts of the statement. Like other words which have come from him, Ash means what he says to his core or else he does not bother with it at all. 

_I still have so much to learn, after all these while. And stop overthinking, of course._

Arceus has unknowingly underestimated Ash’s capabilities. A human who decides to brave the difficulties of mating a Legend deserves more trust than has been given, a realization that embarrasses Arceus for its short-sightedness. In the silence that follows, it seems that the very air surrounding them is charged with an unseen energy that deeply affects them. It is not the first time either of them has experienced moments like these, intimately ingrained with promises that defies verbal explanations. 

It was in one such moment that Arceus gained an unexpected courage to make its proposal. 

This time, Arceus says nothing because much more is conveyed to it from Ash’s hand on its shoulder. His Aura speaks the rest when even touch is insufficient to speak for him; the natural blue of Ash’s essence is muted compared to Arceus’ but blazing in its strange way. Arceus relaxes its senses, allowing the Trainer’s Aura to flow into it in some sort of reversion to their coupling, whence it is Arceus who was the giver. 

Ash’s passion is evident, being a defining constant in his life but a relatively new spark shines like a star in him, linked to the thoughts associated with the Creation Legend. Ripples of confusion exists in it, perhaps reflecting the Trainer’s natural puzzlement at the ways his love life turns out, but Arceus focuses instead on the core warmth of his affection. Curiously, though it is not the first time Arceus notices it so, his Aura burns like fire but its flow feels similar to that of a Legendary Magical Creature: slow and gentle as a river which has come to join the vast sea. 

Some of Arceus’ aural restrain has lost its potency in the intervening time. It will be possible to seduce him to a meaningful effect now – an outcome that Arceus begins to look forward to – but the unexpected knocking upon its mind startles the Original One. Arceus draws away reluctantly, even crossly, but the mental touches fish its curiosity enough to blunt its more aggressive moods. Ash looks up at him, frowning; baffled at this sudden fluctuation in its behaviours. 

“Arceus?” 

_-…Somebody is calling._

“Who?” 

Arceus dissects the nuances and unique feeling to the feeble connection between them. The beings, for there are more than just one who are calling the Original One, are immediately identifiable. They will always be, even if decades should have passed since they met each other in person. 

_-You know them, Ash. Come._

Obediently, Ash recalls his Pokémon back into their respective Pokéballs, leaving only his usual Pikachu to hang on around his neck. Having ensured that the Ketchum has made himself comfortable in the crook between its shoulders, Arceus heads off into the palace, following the winding course of the great hallways until it is back in the Hall of Origin, where Ash was first dropped off upon arriving in its home dimension. 

Unsurprisingly, Ash notices the familiarity of his environment, a point which he curiously inquires of the Original One. 

To answer him, Arceus summons the essence of the place with its Aura, giving its desire shapes to materialize in the hall – 

“Another pool?” 

Ash stares, as does Pikachu, at the rectangular column which rises from the sky-tiled floor. Save for minor golden highlights and the manner in which it appears, the hollowed polygon holds no particular distinction until it begins to fill itself with water whose source is indiscernible to them. 

_-It is ordinary water, siphoned off the Circle Lake. It is perfectly drinkable; in case you are wondering. However…_

Drinking is not the purpose of it being contained here. The water is ordinary, yes, but within the ambient glow of Arceus’ Aura, even more pronounced within the unseen walls of the Hall of Origin than anywhere else in its home dimension, the water is granted another possible significance. As the mirror-still liquid begins to glow softly with the saturated essence of the Original One which has seeped into its very microscopic crystals, Arceus immerses its linked mind into it, directing the connection into a purposeful, controlled path. 

The Avatar of Willpower is the first to traverse the opened road. 

The small yet powerful voice sings with the spirit of crackling wildfire in Arceus’ mind. In its moments, Arceus is itself capable of incredible valour and iron-hard determination yet this creature wears it with natural consistence, its presence a bright candlelight in Arceus’ meta-sight. 

In the physical world, a tendril of flowing water rises from the pool, twisting snake-like for a moment or two, and coalesces before Ash’s and Pikachu’s very eyes into the shape of the Legend known as Azelf. Seized by amazement, Ash is still working on a word to utter when a second voice echoes through the link in Arceus’ mind. 

The Avatar of Knowledge possesses a voice that is like a whisper, a secret breeze that gusts into narrow crevices and deep caverns unexplored by humans. Unlike the grandiose dance of Azelf’s appearance, the water ripples outwards from a point in the middle of the pool before a ball of water extracts itself out, shedding droplets and trickles of excessive liquid until the figure of Uxie is carved out of the liquid sphere. 

“Uxie…?” Ash manages to find his voice this time, yet the pool is again reacting to the last presence of the Lake Guardians. 

In Arceus’ mind, Mesprit’s soft, lulling voice brings to mind the harmony of a song as envisioned by a masterful musician. In a more subdued fashion than its brethren, the Avatar of Emotion forms itself from the water section by section, from limb to limb, starting from its stubby feet up to the round head. 

They converge around Arceus and circle the Legend gleefully, their wordless noises a contrast to Arceus’ usual smooth, articulated speech. They make for peculiar combinations, Arceus and the Lake Guardians but they are still kin to the Original One as the Dialga, Palkia and Giratina are no matter how much they physically differ. However, unlike the Dragon Trios, the Lake Guardians’ greetings are unorganized, mostly nonverbal and very much informal when it comes to addressing their Trio Master. Their minds flirt with Arceus’ consciousness like a Swellow’s acrobatic flights, swooping in and away from the Original One’s mind like lightning strikes. 

There are myriads of their emotions flowing into the Alpha Legend from their mind-links. They warm Arceus from the very core with their curiousity, excitement, joy… even a touch of mischief here and there. Arceus welcomes them all indiscriminately though the continuous streams of their thoughts make it difficult to tell which belongs to whom. 

_-Arceus, we’re here! –_

_-We’ve felt it – Well, Mesprit felt it first –_

_-Tell us –_

“Uxie? Mesprit? Azelf? What are they doing here?” 

At once, Ash finds himself the focus of the three Lake Guardians who, at the sound of his inquiry, stop their Arceus-orbiting and stare unreservedly at the Trainer – even Uxie, with its perpetually closed eyes, convey a sense of undivided attention from its orientation towards the human. 

In the next moment, the Lake Guardians explode into a renewed excitement. 

_-Oh, oh, oh – There he is! –_

_-I see him! –_

_-He’s not shy, is he? –_

One of them, Azelf, detaches from its brethren; twin tails streaming behind it as it flies down to the Ketchum’s level. The Representation of Willpower eventually comes to hover in front of his face after circling the Ketchum a few times, golden eyes contemplatively staring into Ash’s brown eyes. 

_-It’s him!_ Azelf broadcasts exultantly, to be answered with similarly toned chirps from its comrades. _-I thought it had felt familiar before – It’s really him: Ash Ketchum!_

“So, you guys remembered me,” he says wonderingly. Despite being not a little confused at the situation, Ash delightedly receives Azelf into his arms when it attempts to cuddle into him. The remaining Lake Guardians are also descending to Ash’s general height to crowd around him by now. 

_-Why shouldn’t we? You’ve saved us all before,_ Azelf replies, its voice affectionate in his head. 

_-It’s true! You’re right, Azelf –_

_-And he’s the Young Master now –_

Yielding to the Lake Guardian’s combined weight, Ash allows himself to fall backwards when they surround him ever more closely until they practically cling to his body. Pikachu hops out of the harm’s way just in time to save himself from being crushed, all the while as puzzled to the reception as his Trainer is. 

“Arceus, what’s going on here?” He asks, turning to the Alpha Legend for explanation that is far too disjointed for his understanding, coming from the Lake Guardians. 

As if cued by Arceus settling down beside the fallen Trainer, the Psychic Trio withdraws from the Ketchum and assumes a smaller path circling both him and the Pikachu. On the other hand, Pikachu reclaims its position on Ash’s shoulders. The Ketchum heaves a deep breath once the Lake Guardians’ weights are lifted off his chest, hauling himself to sit cross-legged on the floor. When he continues to look baffled for the next fifteen seconds, Arceus says in as normal as tone as it can without betraying just how much amusement it derives from Ash’s bafflement, _-It is given that they should be here, do you not think so?_

“…I guess?” 

This time, it was Uxie who takes the liberty to roost on Ash’s other shoulder. _-We could hardly stand not knowing –_

_-We have to come and see for ourselves,_ Mesprit supplies cheerfully. The Representation of Emotion has settled to hover beside Arceus’ head instead of circling it like Azelf is still doing. _-I was the first to feel it but it’s Azelf who suggested who it was with the Master._

_“Pika-chu?”_

Ash readily agrees with the Pikachu’s questioning tone. “I don’t get it at all –” 

He becomes quiet suddenly, a spark of comprehension igniting in his brain. Under his messy locks, it can see the skin on his forehead screwing in a ruminative frown. 

“Hold on…I think I get some of it. It was Cynthia, I think. She said that the Lake Guardians’ Trio Master is not among them, like there is no clear leader for Dialga, Palkia and Giratina.” Taking off his cap, he demonstrates just how disarrayed his hair can be and is made even more so with his fingers running through them. His eyes fall on Arceus who waits patiently for the Trainer to finish his thoughts. “You oversee the Lake Guardians too, didn’t you? Not just the Dragon Trio.” 

_-Clever boy,_ Arceus cannot help but chuckle at the indignant look on the Ketchum’s face. 

Before Ash can say anything about it though, he is overwhelmed by the Lake Guardians’ chanting. 

_-And we felt the Master –_

_-Its Aura didn’t surge for so long –_

_-We’re so very, very curious –_

“…Wait! Are you guys saying that – when you said you felt it – when – we – that –” 

He falters in the face of his embarrassment. His hands flail incoherently in vague signs of what Arceus assumes to be their mating, if only because nothing else seems to fit in the context; his gestures do not really make any sense except perhaps of somebody drowning. Even the Lake Guardians giggle openly at Ash’s debilitating awkwardness, at the red on his cheeks which is becoming more and more pronounced by the second. 

_-Dear Ash,_ Arceus says finally after about a minute’s worth of unwavering rambles. With its tangible purple aura suffused with the soothing gold essence, the Original One winds it around the Trainer as a human embraces another for comfort. _-The Lake Guardians are beings of the Spirit and they are connected to me. It is easy for them to sense my feelings and deduce what has occurred._

Arceus deliberately omits the part where Arceus itself does not foresee the intensity of its own emotions and the flooding of combined Aura that followed, to the extent that Arceus has not bothered to dam its transmission. In addition, to invoke love from the Original One is a rare feat worthy to fish the Lake Guardian’s innate curiosity once they realized that such is exactly what is happening; Arceus’ compassion is not unheard-of but its personal attention is more sparing, and Ash has gone well beyond that as to make it wants his romantic affection. 

Altogether, it is inevitable that Uxie, Mesprit and Azelf will be irrevocably interested to the identity of Arceus’ newfound lover. 

_-It’s true,_ Azelf chirps from its position beside Arceus, having given up on its circling around the Original One. _-To feel Arceus again, and with someone else glowing beside the Master –_

_-Arceus is usually quite alone – and silent,_ Mesprit pointedly hovers right above Arceus whose ears twitch reflexively to the nearness. _-There was never anyone beside ourselves –_

_-And the Dragons,_ Uxie interjects. _-Also, a few Unown, sometimes._

_-And them,_ Mesprit continues without losing its pace, _-who came to the Hall of Origin in the past. Suddenly, there’s a human right in here –_

_-And becoming the Young Master to boot!_ Uxie finishes. 

_-Speaking of which,_ Mesprit interrupts to the Ketchum’s slight confusion at the Trio’s frequent interpositions, _-It’s bold of you to bring him here, him being a human and all._

“Oh no, it’s not Arceus,” Ash manages to answer, having found his voice again after the crippling embarrassment has eased somewhat. “It was my idea. I asked Dialga to bring me here – and here I am.” 

_-Oh, then it’s still bold for all three of you,_ the Avatar of Emotion concludes to the agreement of the other Lake Guardians. 

_-I have talked to Dialga about this,_ Arceus supplies when the Ketchum becomes evidently at loss again for words. _-Ash will need gradual conditioning to my home. In the meanwhile, my Aura will keep him protected._

_-But here is so far from Earth –_

_-Come on, Uxie, Dialga knew the risks involved –_

_-Dialga knows about this nearly as much as Palkia anyway –_

_-Indeed, and the Young Master doesn’t look too bad himself –_

_-Well, I guess it’s alright then – but the Young Master –_

“Guys,” Ash holds up his hands, desperate to interrupt the confusing flow of information. “What’s with the business with this ‘young master’, anyway?” 

_-You are, of course!_ Mesprit quips in as Arceus, once again, decides to do the telling but before it can carry it out. With three talkative Legends in the vicinity, it seems hardly necessary for Arceus to make any vocal contribution. 

_-The consort to Arceus – our Trio Master – who else?_

The look of understanding is crossed with another expression more closely resembling unease rather than delight at Mesprit’s words. Ash is rightfully proud of his achievements in the Earthly realm – prone to lapse into eager narration of his battles or whatever adventures he happened to be thrust into in-between the Original One’s visits – but strangely, he is content to be recognized as its mate by Arceus itself. Back on Earth, Arceus can understand his reluctance; to mate a Magical Creature is a controversial matter, in fact a taboo to some, but before none other than the Lake Guardians… 

…Well, there is also that Ash is simply just that shy when it comes to mating in general. Why else he would always squirm whenever the subject is brought up even when there is no one else but Arceus with him? 

“Arceus?” Both the call of its name and a firm grasp to its lower neck-spike shatters the Legend’s reverie, returning Arceus to the present where Ash stares up at it, frowning. “They don’t really have to call me that, do they?” 

His eyes are impossible to reject, the brown irises wide in plea. Arceus cannot have given him a different answer even if there is one hypothetically. 

_-No, it is just an honorific._

“There you go,” Ash declares triumphantly. “I think I’ll just be ‘Ash’ – but thanks anyway.” 

_-If you wish so,_ Uxie hums from its place on Ash’s shoulder. _-Still, a human in the Hall…_

_-He is very determined,_ Azelf says in a manner that just the description is enough to explain what Ash has done. _-His Willpower burns as bright as ever; maybe more._

_-Takes one to have made it across the spaces, for sure._

_-His Emotions are just as bright,_ Mesprit adds wistfully. _-A little coarse maybe, but strong._

_-Of course. You don’t expect him to feel as smooth as Legends –_

_-No indeed. Anyway, he’s still young, even for humans._

_-Still, his Aura is pretty, isn’t it? And the Gold sure helps even the edges –_

By now, Ash readily gives up in keeping tabs with their relentless and everchanging discussions and reclines against Arceus’ front legs, sighing quietly. Arceus does not begrudge his confusion for the Lake Guardians can be distressingly fluid in their conversations to untrained ears, taking pity in the obvious strains he displays at following them as much as he can. 

Then, as abruptly as they begin, the three Psychic Legends turn in tandem towards Arceus and announce, _-It’s time for us to return._

“What?” Ash blurts, surprised at this suddenness; Arceus merely nods in acknowledgement. 

_-Go with blessings, my Guardians._

One by one, starting with Azelf, the Lake Guardians circle first Arceus, then the human in what to them a farewell dance. Then they hover above the rectangular pool, briefly chirp to them a second goodbye, then dive straight into the water. 

Ash’s and Pikachu’s combined gasps are in equal parts horror and curiousity for the Lake Guardians do not merely sink; their very bodies seem to dissolve in the water, unleashing wispy traces of their colours into the water which themselves dissipate in the liquid colourlessness surrounding them. 

“Arceus…?!” 

He is about to scramble to his feet but Arceus’ nudge to his shoulder is unhurried, conveying to him the situation is not something to be feared. 

_-Their real bodies still lie in their pocket dimensions in their respective caves. When they came here, they merely… transferred their souls into temporary bodies, moulded from the waters in the pool and maintained with their Auras, my own and the innate powers of this place._

“So… it was a bit like when I first saw Azelf at the Lake Valor. It seemed… like a mirage then.” He stops, racking his memories momentarily for said experience. “Uxie and Mesprit too – Brock and Dawn told me about the same thing.” 

_-Exactly, though they have better capabilities than their normal soul-projections here, where my influence is greater._

Wordlessly, Arceus sends its Aura-imbued force into the lattice structures of the pool, willing it to dissolve back into the floor while the water is made to evaporate to the surroundings. In five blinks of Ash’s eyes, there is no physical evidence of the visitations from the Lake Guardians. 

Meanwhile, Ash apparently has been thinking about the Lake Guardians’ feats because he says then, “Why can’t they come here, like, really come here?” 

_-You mean, being physically present in the Hall? They can, of course, but they wanted to come quickly and the journey from Earthly Realm is lengthy._

As far as Arceus is concerned, only a scarce number of creatures are actually capable of travelling to the Hall of Origin unaided. Of them, only Dialga, Palkia and Giratina can manage wormholes that do not take impractical amounts of time and energy on their own. Yet again, of the Trio, only Palkia, as befitting its title as the Master of Space, can confidently transport beings other than itself through the vast dimensions and protecting its chosen passenger from the massive dimensional fluxes throughout the way. 

This has been the reason that Ash, arriving here via Dialga, worries the Original One. The Timekeeper commands a little of the Spatial aspects, enough to carry a human, but to navigate through the multitudes of realities taxes on its ability to shield the Ketchum from harm. 

Miraculously, Ash seems to be thinking along the same general topic because he continues with his inquiry. “So, if me coming here is so risky, can you…um, do something to project my soul here, while my body is left in my house – or something?” 

Doubtless to say, Arceus’ ever-present concern which is only a calm layer under his consciousness just a few seconds ago is agitated into a sweltering, churning terror. 

_-Ash, what are you –_

Arceus is unable to finish its sentence; the rest comes out whimpered, its words twisted beyond recognition. 

_Soul-projection – for a human?!_

_-Ash, do not propose such a thing! It is dangerous, beyond deadly – what if your soul is lost…?!_

Lost in the multitudes of Closed Worlds – drifting aimlessly, unable to die even if one wishes – Forever screaming, with no one to listen – 

“Arceus – Arceus, stop! What’s wrong?” 

Dimly, Arceus senses the human’s weight against its chest, his hands pawing desperately at the hide, clinging and tugging at nearby furs; urgently trying to raise its attention back to himself. Perhaps because of his much lesser weight and light-footedness, Arceus is unaware of his Pikachu climbing its way from the Trainer’s shoulders, up through the neck-spikes as stepping stones, and scramble the rest of the way to its head. 

Thus, it is quite sudden that it hears Pikachu’ barks of consolations right into its left ear. 

“Arceus, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I didn’t know –” 

_No… of course he doesn’t know._

_It is not his fault. He is just curious._

_But oh, the prospect of it – the dread –_

The moment Arceus’ lowered head reaches the floor, Ash hurries over to it and throws his arms around it, just behind the still-trembling ears. As a matter of fact, a slight tremor is running through Arceus’ body, shakened by the innocent inquiry and the likely results if the aforementioned feat is carried out. 

_-…Dear one, do not scare me so ever again._

“Arceus, I’m really sorry –” 

_-There are lost souls in the Earthly Realm,_ Arceus interrupts; taking what comfort to be gained from the solidness of Ash’s presence in its nuzzling. _-They are confined to Earth and its sister plains, and yet they scream for release._

Hands are roaming on its face but the usually clever fingers are fidgety, uneasy in their touch; fearing that what he is doing is inadequate. 

_-To be lost in the unthinkable many of the Closed Worlds… Ash, I fear it and I fear for you. You cannot imagine its horrors: An un-death until the end of time._

Arceus itself has brushed much too close to that eventuality that even its thoughts of it bring a sudden coldness to its core. By itself, the meteor would not have been able to strip Arceus so – but Arceus has been so very weak when it arrived, taxed in its cosmic task with the Beyond – and if Damos has not been there, if he has not returned to Arceus the scattered Plates… 

_-Projecting the souls are difficult, Ash. The Lake Guardians have refined it, mastered it, and yet still use it carefully and sparingly._

It is strange for Arceus to want to be comforted yet right now, the Original One craves it desperately from its human. Too much passes through its mind at once, much of it which ultimately leads to gruesome conclusions, that they sicken the Legend. Ash’s stroking hands, frantic apologies and promises to not repeat it again soothe the sharpest of its pain but his very presence triggers off another line of thought. It is another sin of overthinking, Arceus realizes, but for the moment it is helpless against its magnetism. 

Death inevitably awaits Ash, a mortal as he is. 

_No,_ Arceus lashes internally, _Not now. He is alive; he is here._

“Arceus,” he whispers, trying desperately to reach Arceus’ wrapped consciousness through the thick fog that is its alarm. 

Calling Ash’s name, its attempted acknowledgement instead turns into a soft rumble. Arceus ignores its failure and burrows deeper into the modest expanse of his chest, relieved to hear the beatings of his heart as strongly as ever in the uneasy quietness which has descended in the hall. 

_-Do not leave, Ash._


	14. The Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even Arceus desires the company and comfort of its spouse, which Ash has no intention to disappoint.

For the better part of the hour, much to Ash’s tension, Arceus’ unhappiness persists despite his best efforts to banish it until he resorts simply to waiting. Though there are answers when spoken to, Arceus is mostly scarce with words ever since Ash came up with his inquiry on the soul projection. In this regard, Pikachu has long foreseen Arceus’ need for peace and has left his place on Ash’s shoulder as soon as they re-entered the expansive bedchamber and curled away against the ornate headboard, near one of the hung incense burner which continues to smoke faithfully like the rest of them. As for Ash, lost in the quietness and restless with his inability to do an effective comforting, simply decides to take his chance and wiggles himself into the space between the outstretched forelegs. 

Arceus stirs as if just being awakened from a deep reverie as Ash tries to tuck himself in. Having assumed that Arceus will at least tolerate the closeness, having its gaze fixed upon him made him doubt the assumption; then he is gently prodded to lie near the joint of its limb instead of being turned away, much to his relief. 

_-I,_ Arceus declares bitterly and in a severe tone as if pronouncing a grim sentence, _-beg of you to forgive me. I must have worried you back then._

“Not really,” he says, ignoring the fact that he sort of is. “I’m just glad that you’re talking again.” 

A hand stretched out and upwards motions to Arceus for its closeness. The Original One quietly complies, bending its long neck down to meet the opened palm. His fingers close around the point of its chin and starts stroking as he usually does. 

_-…It does not change the fact that I should have known better than to let myself panic like that._

“Arceus, stop. You’re being too hard on yourself. You’re _overthinking.”_

Honestly, Ash does not feel like there are pressing obligations owed to him, least of all an explanation to one’s fear. To top it off, Arceus seems to be under an impression that perfection is demanded of it and so, has strived painfully to achieve an image of it. If the most conspicuous change he brings to Arceus is increasing anxiety, Dialga is justifiably sceptic of his bond with the Original One… 

“If you’re supposed to act tough all the time, it’s going to build up in you and, well, that’s not going to end well, does it?" As he continues to stroke its face, the green spot under its eye attracts him for some reason; Ash playfully circles the marking with the tip of a finger. A deep rumble from the throat above him shows pleasure at this simple and half-conscious act but not enough to entirely banish its lingering thoughtfulness. "Come on, Arceus. Dialga will probably Dragon Meteor’d me to oblivion if it sees you like this." 

Arceus snorts, the sound which represents something like a dismissive huffing. _-Harming you is the furthest thing from its mind; Dialga is simply nervous as I had been. To form a connubial commitment is an extremely foreign notion to us._

“But the Lake Guardians didn’t seem to have a hard time accepting me, did they?” 

_-I cannot imagine why they wouldn’t. The Dragons may prefer solitude but the Lake Guardians, beings of the Soul as they are, naturally favour me being more… ‘connected’._

Ash giggles at the hinting nudge he receives to his cheek. The fur is quite tickling as well on his neck, Arceus being quite large to make a localized touch. 

“In that case, did you have boy-… I mean, girl-… dammit, _mates_ before this?” 

Under his caressing palm, Ash feels a sudden yet subtle tensing of its jaw-muscles. Likewise, the momentary silence that follows contains therein an almost imperceptible sense of avoidance. 

_-…The Lake Guardians do not necessarily mean connections in that sense, Ash._

“I know. I’m just curious,” he replies, blithe to the source of Arceus’ agitation until a few delayed seconds later. “I mean, if you feel like telling me…” 

_Way to go, you dumbass._

By trying to draw its attention away from its previous anxiety, Ash has instead plunged the Legend into a topic it apparently is at unease to discuss. 

Before the Ketchum can rectify the situation, Arceus forges on reluctantly. _-I have had a long, long life, Ash. Suffice to say, though, that there has been none of the so-called Young Master before you._

“Arceus –“ 

_-To the Earthly Legends, we are a reclusive group,_ Arceus continues, apparently unaware of Ash’s attempts to cut the conversation where it is. _-Even during Damos’ time, I have not sought other Legends for well over five thousand years even for something as simple as a conversation._

“It must be, uh, lonely…?” 

It is not the first time Ash realizes that he has an unappreciated penchant of steering conversations into awkward territories or making stupid remarks worth an eye-rolling or ten. 

_-I had Damos for company when I felt like it but to mate… it did not occur into my mind then. My solitude had never been bothersome before you came along._

A sharp fang, tiny to the owner but is slightly larger than the size of Ash’s fist, grazes the skin at the back of his hand. His words stutter, then fail completely, uncertain but interested in the message in the contact. 

_-The moment the new history entered my mind, I was lost. I saw you; wanted to know more than just your name. Who was this human who defied me, yet whom Dialga trusted to send into the past, who saved my life when there was no obligation upon him? Who worthy enough that my Dragons took upon themselves to protect, I wonder?_

The fang slides away. A stretch of concave profile places itself under his palm; Arceus pushes its face into his hand so that his hand is now on its cheek. Quite by reflex, Ash’s finger follows the line on its face, sometimes teasing the Legend by briefly wedging the tip between the tightly closed line of its jaws. 

“I was just doing what I thought was right and you were in danger. Other people would’ve done the same.” 

_-Perhaps, but it was not just that. It seemed to me that you were drawn to protect whoever needed protecting, and fought for others regardless who was your opponent._

By this time, Arceus yields to the digging forefinger and parts its mouth slightly. Ash blatantly strokes the fang, partly admiring, partly wondering of what sort of damage it is capable of if used seriously in combat, then retreats for a more conventional petting along the line of its lower jaw. 

Throughout these, Arceus’ speech is not hindered whatsoever: _-News of your deeds throughout the regions came to me. I knew that you might be a powerful Trainer but still a human – and not even the champion among them! A human fighting Legends? Or better yet, protecting the Legends? It was absurdity at its finest!_

Despite trying as best as he can to listen with optimism, Arceus’ then-assumption weighs in him with a disappointment that feels like a lead at its off-handedness. The movement from his hand slows noticeably, becoming short and careless; his fingers more scratching than stroking. All these are barely consciously done because Ash is more focused on not sounding too accusing or offended. 

“Arceus, that’s a bit… mean, don’t you think?” 

_-Yes indeed. Nevertheless, it was my thought then…_ Arceus stops momentarily, noticing the unmissable frown that begins to contort Ash’s face, and exhales a soothing breath in his direction. _-…You have a right to be angry, I suppose. Azelf especially recognized your worth far more easily than I eventually did – that you care only of giving your finest effort regardless of the odds._

Ash wishes that he is more proficient in hiding his discontent, seeing that the beginning of a new gloom overtaking the Legend and rendering him clueless as to the appropriate reply to give. It will not be entirely honest to say that he is unaffected, only that he is not as upset as Arceus perceives. Furthermore, the self-loathing look Arceus now wears is unsettling to look at; this is not something that the Legend deserves for its realized mistake. Ash regrets that he is never that good at delicate consolation and the conversation seems beyond his capability to fix. 

Still, he tries to gather his thoughts for something to say; an effort that is swiftly made moot anyway by the shock of having Arceus’ tongue flitting into his ear. He gasps, carefully-chosen words fleeing his thoughts; the hand used to scratch his non-itchy head flies to grab the side of Arceus’ head. 

_-My amusement became my trap; it turned to fascination. In the end, it was I who was ashamed._

Smooth voice trembles delicately as Ash fists a handful of fur, pulling erratically. Its breath becomes uneven and harsh, washing against his neck in warm gusts. Arceus’ nearness does not always have predictable effect on the Ketchum; sometimes it soothes… 

…but at the moment, Arceus is stirring him into a heated excitement into paths he is well aware to what end. The low rumble of its voice is faintly seductive, layered rather ironically with remorse that does not make for an agreeable combination. 

_-Look at me now, Ash. Such a pathetic creature I must be, laughing at the human that I would eventually fall for! For all that I possess, I have nothing to give you but myself…_

With a great effort and sheer willpower that surprises even the Ketchum, Ash succeeds in wriggling away from its licking, even pushing the Legendary Pokémon away for added distance. His brain is becoming too fogged up with lust to cope with more comprehensive thinking – something he sorely needs when Arceus is plunged into this familiar, if rarely displayed, acerbic self-depreciation. Predictably, the look on Arceus’ face is one of hurt tinged with disbelief. Ash is quick to tighten his grip on its skull, keeping static their separating distance before Arceus can pull further away. 

“You’re unfair, Arceus. What do you expect me to say when you’re licking me like that?” 

Its sharp cynism immediately becomes incredulity that may have been comical in any other circumstances. 

“Whatever you thought of me, it’s in the past, right? It doesn’t matter right now.” He can do little with his small hands when it comes to soothing. That does not stop him from trying, remembering that Arceus is usually calmed when the grey of its face is stroked. “It’ll do no good to either of us, worrying about these stuffs.” 

_-…Then, at least tell me that I have been forgiven._

Ash spares a second to raise a disbelieving eyebrow, something that speaks along the line of _Really now?_ but the pleading in those eyes are unmistakable. It is a look far too vulnerable for a Legend like Arceus to wear and Ash dislikes it. 

“We’re even,” he says firmly. Truthfully, there is nothing that remains worth reflecting, let alone for forgiveness. 

Its head, hovering right beside him, nuzzles him appreciatively. For the briefest moment, Ash wonders if a kiss is a reasonable action in the circumstance, then he does it anyway. The heat of the moment is the best explanation he can offer. Arceus does not flinch from surprise or reject him for the spontaneity; its acceptance is passive, wondering and open to whatever Ash wants to make of it. 

It is inevitable, all things considered. 

Ash’s restrain is only temporary before the heated atmosphere between them becomes too much to bear. He succumbs to the allure readily this time, comforted that Arceus is no longer dwelling on its self-imposed hatred. Arceus’ mouth still feels strange in its inhumanness, yet at the same time Ash does not mind this reminder of who it is he is kissing. What more can a normal guy like him can hope for, when he is already loved by a Legendary Pokémon of this calibre? He certainly did not expect this degree of affection when promising himself to the Original One… 

_-Do you still want me as I am this time?_

It is not the question that does it but the inopportune timing. Ash nearly bites the tip of Arceus’ tongue which is shyly flitting into his mouth, manages to supress his response but end up gagging himself instead. Thankfully, Arceus draws away before the potential mess can be realized. 

_-…I am sorry…?_

Really, Arceus is just… _adorable_ in moments like these, never mind that this was supposedly a vicious Legend hell-bent on exacting a hundreds of years’ old revenge. Automatically it has assumed that the fault lies with it even if Arceus is not exactly clear on what is its mistake. 

“It’s just, uh, it feels weird when I heard you talking when we’re… kissing.” His rubbing on the metallic forehead nudged to his neck informs the Pokémon that it is just a small distraction not worth thinking of anymore. 

_-Is that so? I apologize then; it did not occur to me that it would bother you so much._

“That’s okay,” he says and goes straight back to the interrupted kiss, pulling it closer to him and recaptures the Original One’s mouth enthusiastically. He hears a soft grunt, presses harder, and is responded to with parted mouth. Upon separation, willingly this time, Ash decides it is a good thing to end it despite wanting more, feeling that he can come by kissing alone if it is kept long enough. He instinctively wipes the excess saliva trickling from his lips and regrets it a second later. 

_-You are quite impatient this time, Ash._

“You’re not one to talk. You started it; all the licking and stuffs.” 

Arceus does not fight the Trainer as he lunges for the neck, nor does it complain to the reprimanding tug on its ear despite the fact that any other person doing so will be likely facing a rain of Judgements immediately. Its front half is left to fall on its side, having the flank-wheel keeping its hindquarter quite secure in its current position. 

_-…Well?_

“Well what?” 

The sigh he is given sounds a little like resignation and a lot like impatience. _-Do you want me to change this time?_

Ash does not need to make the unnecessary, inconsequential “Oh,” but it gives him extra time to think. Wet dreams involving feral-form Arceus began to visit him not too long before the Pokémon became honest with its desire but the dream he had in the train was the first instance he had of a humanoid Arceus. It will be interesting to try that or… 

On the other hand, Ash already cannot get enough of the Legendary Pokémon as it is (albeit a smaller size, like before, will undoubtedly be handier). He absolutely adores its inhuman face twisting in an expression of pure delight and ecstasy that he, a simple human, can nevertheless understand. 

“What do _you_ want, Arceus?” 

Why it that Arceus should look mildly surprised is confusing to him. He decides that it is not a topic to be mulled over for the moment and waits instead for its partner to reply. 

_-Well…_ Arceus sidles against him affectionately, in a manner that no one would have believed that the Legendary Pokémon is capable of. _-…If you will have it, I would like to be in this body again._

“Okay.” Turning his head sideways, he kisses the cheek being lowered next to him before Arceus can give one of its own. “Can you shrink like you did before?” 

No sooner than he says these that beams of light begins to pierce out from under Arceus’ hide, becoming more numerous until the Pokémon is completely encompassed in a ball of pulsing light. With each pulsation the light-sphere contracts, becoming ever smaller until the light fades out completely and reveals Arceus, now barely towering over him and even so partly because of its long neck. Its flank is again barren of the golden wheel. 

However, with the size reduction comes another realization – Arceus’ large body has obscured his view before but now, his clearer field of view notices the bundle of yellow fur curled in a corner of the bed. 

“Oh, crap – I forgot –“ 

_-Your Pikachu? He is already sleeping._ Arceus says and inches forward to close the distance created when it transforms to this smaller body. 

“Really? That’s fast…” He cannot help fidgeting despite the certain signs of said Pokémon being indeed deep in slumber. “Any chance he’s gonna wake up or…?” 

Arceus heaves a sigh, shoulders lowering in definitive resignation. _-Why is that you are so uncomfortable to mate around your own… Pokémon? In case you have not yet noticed, I myself am considered one of them._

“That’s exactly why!” Having leaned himself against the Legendary Pokémon’s chest, his whimpers are more muffled but still discernible, “You’re a Pokémon, and so’s Pikachu, and thinking about doing it where they can see – It just feels weird – It didn’t bother me before but now…!” 

He doesn’t really know how to put what he feels into words; only that it seems a little like doing a striptease in front of an anonymous crowd, neither of which applies to his Pokémon. Pikachu is definitely not a ‘crowd’, and even if other Pokémon are unleashed from their balls, they are not strangers to the Trainer. 

_-You, my dear Ash, have peculiar ways of thinking. You are well aware that they are sentient, intelligent creatures long before I courted you._

“I know, I can’t explain it too well… It’s just is. After you –“ 

He stops speaking instinctively when Arceus leans forward, levelling its eyes to that of the Trainer and laves it tongue in an extensive, slow swipe along his lips and down to his jawline, ending the lick at his chin. The gesture is meant to elicit silence from the Trainer – which it does successfully – as well as to put him at ease, which is to lesser success. 

_-Will it still bother you if I guarantee that he will not wake up, whatever we may be doing between us?_

“Uh, no… I guess I’ll be okay then.” 

A nod signifying understanding; then the Original One shifts around to the still-sleeping Pikachu. Semi-corporeal arms comprised of purple aura erupt from its body and wrap around the Pokémon in a sort of cocoon. Ash either fails to realize its presence or the cradle-like basket is indeed just made to materialize into the bedchamber which now stands half-hidden behind the draping of silk decorations at the back of the room. Into this Arceus gently and carefully lays the slumbering Pokémon using its manipulative aura, though for the sake of caution it still follows after his progress until Pikachu is safely tucked into the silk-lined basket-cradle. Craning its neck down, Arceus softly exhales a single deep breath upon the electric rodent starting from its ear until the tip of its tail. 

It reminds Ash of his own experience being made to sleep by Dialga during the better part of his journey through the Closed Worlds and realizes that this is exactly the same thing happening to Pikachu: A sleeping spell of some sort. 

_-I recall that he dislikes being kept in one of those Pokéballs,_ Arceus says by way of explanation when it returns to Ash’s side. _-And he will only be troubled waking up without you nearby if we move someplace else._

Its initiative aside, Ash recognizes the inquiring gleam in the Legend’s eyes for his approval. Smiling, Ash reaches for the long neck and lets his palm slide along it as an assurance, mildly amused that such a creature should want his say in its action. “Thanks, Arceus. You’re really thinking this through.” 

_-As much as I want to be with you, Pikachu is your close friend. I would not dream to do anything that worries any of you._

His kiss is intended as a better thank-you than just saying it – and miraculously stays so despite the near palpable thrums of the Original One’s Aura. The Pokémon trembles under his touch, showing the same restrained impatience which has infected it the previous time but is unwilling to proceed – perhaps sensing the differently-natured kiss administered and deeming it ill-mannered to turn it otherwise. 

As easy as it is to give in, he pulls back just for the sake of teasing the Original One. It tilts its head interrogatively but says nothing. 

Of course his teasing does not last. When the moment catches him like it does now, his hands ache for flesh underneath to touch and feel – and the fur he strokes is a strange combination of a fuzzy sort of comfort and a warm seduction. Ash can never understand the dual attraction to Arceus’ body or the conflicting desire to either overpower the Legend or submit to its whims. Gently, he trails his lips along the curved neck, a hand stroking the mound of its chest while the other fisting a handful of fur and loose flesh at the back of its neck, careful not to let furs invade his mouth and nostrils. He works through his memories and improvises where he can only draw blanks, searching for places which will pleasure the Original One and feeling a warm flutter in his chest at the approving growls stirring in the barrel of its chest. 

Suddenly, the growl evens out into a hum, and his name is called, _-Ash… Let me touch you._

Ash wants to say that it should wait just a little more, that he is enjoying himself in the petting right now. Neither makes out of his mouth because Arceus has forced him to gasp instead, having taken the edge of his shirt between its lipless maw and tugging upwards insistently until Ash is left with little choice but to comply. He has to struggle a bit because Arceus does not seem willing to part its tongue from his skin, letting out an annoyed growl whenever it absolutely has to, then returns immediately to it. Ash does not know where his thrown shirt ends up, occupied as he is in being goaded to lie on his back and accept the wet kisses that is left on its neck and chest. 

“A-Arceus, what’s gotten into you?” He realizes that it sounds like a protest a little too late when Arceus stops abruptly in its ministrations, intense red eyes showing anxiety. 

_-Please,_ it rumbles simply, nudging his cheek for the rest of its unspoken beseech. 

“I don’t mind,” he quickly amends and pulls it closer by the lower jaw. “Just curious. I –“ 

Arceus has pounced at the permission and resumes its attention, effectively cutting the Trainer from further inquiry. Half-consciously, Ash is amazed how much of his body can be licked in a span of barely over a minute – or at least, that is what he manages to glimpse from his watch which he has no time to discard – because his torso is soon moist with a layer of saliva, constantly renewed as Arceus’s tongue makes its round feverishly, following the lines of bones with the tip and using the flat upper-surface of it to swipe at the smooth expanse of muscles. His little moans abruptly become a reflexive laugh as the licking reaches his sides, unbidden and unstoppable, so that between his pleasured groans and his ticklish chortles, Ash soon realizes that he is dangerously out of breath and is helpless to draw another. 

_“Hah!”_

He inhales deeply and instinctively, feeling his lungs expanding as soon as the ticklishness stops. Tears sting at the corner of his eyes with every rapid blink, trying to bring his sight back into focus, realizing that Arceus’ head hovers nearby anxiously. He allows himself a full minute to catch his breath before nodding to Arceus, whereupon the familiar wet, soft muscle lands again on his body; this time, on his stomach. In an instinctive rather than meaningful sort of way, the Trainer’s hands come up to hold the Legend back from the pressing closeness but the gesture is passed over rather than being taken seriously; Arceus has felt the fingers tightening in its fur and understands that Ash wants it as well, only reminding it that he needs breath more vitally than a Legend does. Ash wonders, dimly and laboriously, what has triggered the Original One into the very impatience he has been accused of… 

…Not that he minds it, though. 

The dryness on his lips compared to the state of his torso reminds him that he is severely lacking in kisses despite the tongue coming close enough to initiate another, even flicking at his chin before sliding away the moment Ash opens his mouth. No wonder Arceus wishes for it every now and then; if one is deprived of it when it is craved for, Ash feels somewhat abandoned, however unreasonable that may be. Perhaps asking for it will be reasonable enough but the chance to do so is swept away as the licking ceases altogether and leaves him with little choice besides panting and staring pleadingly into those unnatural red-against-green eyes. 

Indeed, it stops a little too abruptly, if he may say so. 

Worried that something may have gone wrong, Ash tries to pull back to peer at the Legend’s face to gain some kind of cue, but he is further baffled by the unusual stiffness that Arceus has abruptly assumed – moving any part of it becomes an effort and the muscles which he is stroking is worryingly tense. 

“Arceus…? You’re okay?” 

A thin, helpless wail escapes the Original One as if his inquiry had injected life back into its being. 

_-No, no, no… It is happening...!_ Arceus whimpers, dropping its head to the sheet in defeat. Its breathing becomes even more raggedy and wheezing; little tremors wrack the limbs and along the sweat-soaked body. _-Ash, I… I have misjudged it – the heat…!_

“Hey, hey, hey – Arceus, calm down, there’s nothing to worry about...” 

Quickly moving himself towards the Pokémon, he throws his arm around the neck and pulls them close together. Arceus flinches, but soon its body moves seemingly without its consent; rubbing itself against the Trainer wantonly. However, it also appears that the closeness allows a measure of coherence to the Legend, who manages laboriously through the panting moans and gritted teeth: 

_-I have been restraining myself from touching you, but... It comes now, all at once! Go, Ash – I will deal with it myself…_

“Nonsense,” Ash says, having made up his mind long before the desperate gaze falls upon him. With a hand on its forehead and a kiss to follow it, he makes no pretence of the exhilaration of the prospect to come, if Arceus is already rendered breathless with wants. 

“You're saying you need to deal with it, Arceus?” He whispers for which he gains a heated moan from the Alpha, “Then I’m going to help you with it.” 


	15. Diplomacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, you don't actually get to have a say as to what is happening to you, which is a good time to start learning to roll with it.

Newton Graceland walks (and jumps and hops and shuffles, depending on how crazy the gravity is) along the twisted alleyways between the two pseudo-buildings that littered the Reverse World haphazardly, his faithful Shieldon matching his strides in bounds. 

Newton, true to his nature and his colleagues’ accusation, is prone to muttering out loud when he is by himself, as he is doing now. Not many humans can keep up with his escaped monologue, fewer still even tries to and his Shieldon has long ago decided to keep himself silent whenever such mood besets his Trainer. 

“– but the nexus of the disturbances shift without algorithms to govern it, well, mostly, but it is still hard to analyze; if I can track down the – No, that’s highly unlikely, the chaotic nature of the Reverse World nullifies it, but if the radiation detectors on Earth function as they should –” 

The Shieldon barks once, but Newton is still lost in the informational storm that rages in his brain. 

“– or maybe the erratic dimensional topology of the Reverse World actually interferes with the apparent manifestation of the disturbances – _Aoww!”_

Shieldon’s armoured head makes even a gentle butting a sore experience. Newton stumbles forward a step then kneels to rub his shin, where he has the misfortune to take the brunt of the ramming. 

“What’s the ruckus, Shieldon?” 

The answer is apparent the moment he finishes asking. At the first sign of confirmed detection from the mechanism in his bag-pack, a long, articulated pole arm unfolded from within and holds a small screen in front of the scientist. A map, as well as the Reverse World accommodated cartography, showed the section where Newton was currently in. At the upper corner on the left side, a blinking light moved in tight circle. A small tag identified the blinking light as Giratina. 

His eyes peer over the screen in the direction as indicated by the map. It takes some eye-squinting but the long, black ribbon-like form in the distant is undoubtedly the aforementioned Legendary Pokémon. Its movement, comprised of roughly elliptical orbit above a floating landmass with a host of apartment-like structures, is slow but firm like a Houndoom on full alert of possible intruders and with the necessary aggression to counter it. 

Excitement, familiarity and fear collide together in the scientist at the sight. 

His long sojourn in the Reverse World has acquainted Newton to the place’s steadfast guardian and vice versa. Encounters with the Legendary Pokémon is not unusual but its constant migration as it patrols its domain, coupled with Newton’s own meandering path to wherever his current subject of interest is located – whatever that may be – make sighting of Giratina uncommon occurrences. Whenever that comes to pass, Newton never fails to be awed by its presence. 

On the other hand, Giratina rightly earns its notorious reputation whose wrathful guardianship has forced Newton to run away and hide in his earlier years since coming to this place. Until his involvement in stopping his student from power-seizing the Reverse World, Newton was mostly viewed as a nuisance who needed to be driven out of it. After the accident, Newton is no longer under active danger from the Legendary Pokémon but there is Giratina’s knee-jerk reaction in the presence of another, mostly destructively, putting Newton under _involuntary_ threat if he should ever be mistaken for another. His modus operandi has since changed from fleeing and hiding to loudly announcing his presence, the less likely to make himself target of Giratina’s responsive offense. 

Newton means to do just that now but Giratina’s movements and behaviours make him nervous. For these past few weeks, the Renegade Legend shows elevated animosity to anything alien that is not Newton, making proximity to the Pokémon more perilous than Newton is usually comfortable with. As of now, Giratina is mostly observing that particular landmass, making no obvious attempt at attacking or anything that cues Newton into running the hell away from there. As he stands there pondering for his choices, the view on the screen splits itself down the middle; the first half retains the display of the map while the other summons a graph whose lines peak ominously across its half of the screen. 

“The disturbances – it’s occurring nearby!” 

His eyes make the reflexive jump from the screen to the distant figure of Giratina. He has been suspecting it, a wobbly guess, not enough of a theory than a tentative explanation to very limited observations. A) His encounters with Giratina have been increasing since his pursuit of the disturbances. B) Giratina has previously shown empathy to changes in the Distortion World. C) The disturbances almost always materialize within hours of detection. Conclusion: They are both attracted to the disturbances, if for different reasons. 

In the distance, Giratina let out a howl, frustrated and abrasive, its form twisting this way and that in search for the very thing that Newton’s receiver is registering. The disturbance is not yet localized, so that may explain why detection is difficult for both of them – 

_There._

At the same moment another blip appears on the map half of the screen, Giratina snaps out of its orbit and bolts away, body straightening, streamers flapping in its wake, its heading as true and unwavering as a fired arrow. For Giratina, it too has its target clarified. 

The curious/ adventurous/ mad scientist in Newton wakes up. 

“Come on!” He urges, twisting the monitor a little to the side so he will not find himself in complications that are easily avoided if he has kept his line of sight clear. Said complications would not have been too much of a problem if they only mean bumping into poles or stumbling into gutters. Here, however, where gravity has gone from being a harsh mistress to indecisive jerk, Newton extremely prefers himself not to fall off cliffs, which will either mean he drops off to his death really, really fast or he will be floating aimlessly until he chances upon a land with better gravity. 

Here and now, the gravitational pull is fairly normal so he finds himself running normally for about twenty steps before a telling lightness about him makes him exercise caution. Shieldon likewise slows down his pace, taking ginger steps behind his Trainer and yelping alarm whenever Newton is about to put his foot down at compromising-looking ground. In another two steps, both he and Shieldon are making airy leaps, sailing in slow-motion through the air ten feet above the ground, landing lightly with one foot before the other kicks off for the next bound. 

This is why only Newton, already having garnered reputation among his peers as eccentric, can even conceive of staying in here for any extended period of time. For the majority of the methodological, technical scientific community, the normal-defying Distortion World is their worst nightmare. 

Though slow, the low-gravity leaps eat a huge amount of distance with every stride. Newton finds himself approaching his intended location more rapidly than expected, which is fine, but the obvious lack of Giratina in the vicinity is very not so. As he closes in on the area indicated by his map, Giratina has dipped below one of the larger piece of lands, its relatively flat surface hosting considerably more pseudo-buildings, more closely packed than its neighbour. The irony does not escape him that he has been fretting about proximity to said Legendary Pokémon when what he is feeling now is the opposite. Vicious or no though, Newton finds his own strange comfort in the Guardian of the Distortion World, in the knowledge that the world perseveres better under its watchful eye. 

The blips, substituting the maturing disturbance, grow more insistent. Newton consults his map one more, pinpoints where in the physical world it actually is, and presses on towards the target. The disturbance has appeared on the continent that floats below, rather than above, the one Newton is standing upon and it is there he is heading to. Quickly, he locates a narrow but lengthy staircase from his memory of the place, seemingly carved from the bare side of the landmass; descends it with light, brisk steps before Gravity The Jerk decides to become sane again after the third landing, sending a pondering Newton into a half-tumble before regaining enough balance to proceed safely to the bottom of the steps. 

Here, a narrow gulf of air separates the two floating lands – a distance that will have been easily manageable if the physics of this place is a little more cooperative. Between the empty gap and about thirty feet down, a small island prevents an eternity of falling into bone-breaking, body-shattering, meat-mashing impact under a normal gravitational pull. However, Newton’s mental map and sense of the place reassures him that a successful jump is indeed probable, even likely, so he does just that, the Shieldon hot on his heels and questioning nothing of it. They land on the other side without accident – an observer may have said that they do so gracefully – then burst into a sprint without a hitch. 

Experiences tell Newton that the disturbance, like those before it, will not remain for long. They have taken too much time as it is navigating through the mazy designs of the Distortion World that it will not be all that surprising if they miss its brief existence yet again. Now, Newton is faced with narrow and winding alleys that exist between the cramped buildings. The Shieldon is in the lead now, Newton trusting the Pokémon’s innate sense to guide them through more effectively than his instrument – massive electromagnetic radiations that accompany the disturbance causes electronic equipment in its vicinity to glitch. 

When they arrive at the site of the disturbance, what Newton beholds does not scare him – as he initially expects from something as mysterious and elusive – as much as it baffles him. Just a few seconds ago, its characteristic radiation weakens drastically and vanishes altogether from detection, leaving barely a relic of its existence that Newton can scavenge for future analysis. What he does see is a wholly unexpected turn of event as he rounds the last corner… 

…and comes face-to-back with another human. 

A loud gasp and an emergency braking follow his sudden realization, Newton barely avoiding himself from crashing headlong into this mysterious person. Fortunately, Newton’s feet find enough purchase to sort-of-sidestep; his flailing hands brace automatically to the nearest wall, preventing a face-first flop and the likely resultant broken nose. 

Of course, Newton being Newton, his near miss takes only a fraction of his focus. The rest is invested in the human before him: A woman bearing an unfamiliar face. When she turns around, the eyes that look at him are sharp and aggressive. Her stance softens only when she takes the extra seconds to observe him and realizes his harmlessness. 

“You.” The simple one-word acknowledgement is followed by a nod: A curiously curt gesture but without a hint of enmity. 

_She’s not one of my research partners,_ he realizes. _Doesn’t look like she’s sent by Carolina either. I don’t think she’s a scientist at all._

For one, she wears inappropriately whether as a researcher, an adventurer or even a normal modern person. In fact, in her silken tunic-like garment, the gossamer dark cloak pinned around her neck like a shawl and a gold circlet on her forehead, she appears like an ancient priestess of an obscure, long-forgotten cult. On the other hand, the golden gauntlets around her wrists and the pair of spaulders protecting her shoulders hint of a less peaceful expectation. 

_Is she pulled from the other side into the Reverse World?_ His mind continues to ask, finding more and more questions the more he looks at her. _If the disturbance distorts the very reality, can it be that she is displaced in space AND time?_

“Uh, hi there.” As dumb as it is, Newton’s mind cannot come up with a better greeting once he notices her belt – black with interwoven red threads – and the sheathed dagger which hangs from it. 

_Stupid, it’ll be sticking out of your chest right now if she’d wanted to use it._

This woman, whoever she is, certainly carries the bearing of a warrior though thankfully, for the time being, she appears only mildly interested in Newton’s presence. Her skin is dark, naturally rather than tanned to its warm chestnut shade. She stands nearly a foot taller than he but Newton suspects that even if her height is lessened, it will not change the guarded air that envelops her presence. Her dagger helps but it is not the center of it; being with her, there is a sense like he is walking on a ledge, that one misstep may invite a wrath that will doom him worse than if he is to fall off the edge of the Reverse World’s floating islands. 

The silence is, ironically, deafening; the roars of blood rushing into his ears are unnaturally clear in their stillness. “Um,” he begins again, not because he has found more confidence but because staying in inaction will sap whatever he still has. Newton himself is the last person to describe himself as an extrovert, but talking should not be this awkward. “I’m Newton Graceland. A scientist. I study this place and –” 

“I am aware.” Three words. Well, better than none whatsoever or a single “You” like before. In defiance to the awkward and uncomfortable atmosphere between them, he notes that her voice is pleasantly smoky; the kind of which allure enslaves those ears who listen. 

Getting past the shock of hearing her voice takes a few seconds. When that is finished, her reply comes with a meaning, surprising the man. 

“You know me?” If she looks like someone with science-related profession, Newton would have believed it easily. He has made his name among them by being insane enough to come here in the first place. 

On the other hand, this woman looks strange herself. Eccentricity does have a way of finding each other. 

Newton is staring but the fact only occurs to him once his staring reaches the eyes – amber-coloured with a coppery tinge, making as if the irises are burning in a correct lighting and bloody in another. Into this fiery depth, Newton is helplessly sucked into, surrounding him in a dark inferno, shadows dancing in the periphery of his vision like starving beasts skulking for their prey to finally collapse. 

He _knows_ then. 

_“Giratina,”_ he gasps for the strange collision of familiarity and terror he has experienced comes from no one else but the Guardian of the Reverse World. 

Even if currently, said Guardian wears the form of a human female. 

She tilts her head to the side; her long hair, gathered into a high-rise ponytail, falls in a luxurious cascade of black over a spaulder. “None other,” she replies, eyebrow arching, as if questioning Newton’s brain for taking this long to identify her. 

Newton remembers to collect himself and does so immediately. Despite his surprise to find a human-morphed Pokémon, Giratina’s manners suggest that it expects no difference in his behaviours in whatever shape it chooses to be. 

“Nice to meet you. I mean, it’s an honour. Really.” _Pfft,_ so much for acting normally. 

On the other hand, Giratina couldn’t have cared less about acting normally. While she may be dressed peculiarly, Giratina still takes the appearance of an ordinary human until, before Newton’s very eyes, her form becomes immaterial; a small portion in the middle of her circlet glows blue and her body becomes shadowy, losing coherence other than that possessed by a smoke as she lifts her foot. 

She vanishes. 

Newton gasps but no sooner than the first puff leaves his lungs, Giratina blinks back into existence – this time, she is right in front of him, her footfall landing on the ground a finger’s width away from Newton’s still feet. Newton needs only the slightest movements to let their noses touch; as close as they are as Giratina has positioned herself. 

On the heel of his surprise, his analytical mind recognizes the phenomenon. His brain is frantically scribbling notes in the mental pages of his mind: _Shadow Force – in a human form!_

The Shieldon growls in alarm. Giratina turns her face away and directs her stare in the Pokémon’s way but makes no point of retreat, something most other creatures – humans and Pokémon alike – instinctively resort to when threatened by the Shieldon’s distinctive noise. Instead, a rough crooning begins in her throat – an inhuman sound – but which is neither threatening nor comforting. Though there are no recognizable words, to Newton’s ears, her strange, rigid vocalization is matter-of-factly. 

Having pacified the Shieldon, Giratina returns herself to Newton. 

“You will help me hunt, Newton Graceland.” 

“’Hunt?’” 

“Yes.” Her fashion indicates that she thinks of it as no more out of the ordinary than one discussing where to sleep or what to eat for lunch. She gestures with her index finger towards his bag-pack. “You are hunting for the Intruders too, yes?” 

“Intruders?” 

“They are the source of the disruption. Their rampant migrations have weakened the structural fabric between our worlds.” 

_So it’s true that the disturbance attracts Giratina,_ is his first thought. The second is a nervous but exhilarating, _I’m going hunting with Giratina!_ His third thought is a practical if a little bit criticizing _Why me?_

“What can I do to help though? You manage it fine by yourself.” As much as he is interested in agreeing, the Legendary Pokémon’s proposition equally baffles him. 

“Tediously so. Shape-shifting becomes exhaustive if done repeatedly.” She gives a perfunctory glance at her own body, her brow scrunching with criticism. “The Intruders appear in a most… difficult locations. My original Forme cannot manoeuvre through these labyrinths without collateral damages.” 

_Which will in turn compromise the integrity of the Real World,_ Newton realizes. Looking at her and listening to her clipped explanation, the scientist gathers that Giratina is forced to take this body while hunting for… whoever these intruders are without breaking stuffs it is not supposed to in the meantime. 

“I have the speed and ability for an effective travel. You have the size to find these… pests efficiently.” 

“Wait, I don’t have the mean to deal with them! Yes, I’m searching as well but the worst I can do is – I don’t know, yell or something if I find them. I’m just a scientist, not a Guardian.” 

She flicks her hand dismissively; Newton vaguely notices that her slender fingers are tipped with sharp, dark nails. “Then I will lend you my strength. Now: _Yes_ or _no?”_

Newton opens his mouth to object but clamps his lips close almost immediately. Years of debating with his peers has taught him to recognize the start of a futile argument (his attempted peace-talk with Zero notwithstanding). Whatever he will try to say, the only words the Legendary Pokémon-lady will register is his answer. 

Taking a deep breath, he says the one word that matters. “Yes.” 

Her stern expression, enough to cow a Gyarados if she truly applies herself in it, softens ever so slightly. A nod is as good as any in sealing the deal, so Giratina assumes, and Newton is quite disoriented that she walks past him without another word given. A few seconds of stillness, followed by an exchange of confused looks with his Shieldon, then they both fall into steps behind her. In the relatively open area out of the alleyway, Giratina demonstrates her shape-shifting process in reverse: A leap takes her to the air, higher than a human should logically manage, and she shrouds herself in a wispy shadow that she emits from her mouth, her nostrils and from her opened palms. Her ponytail-tied hair and cloak join in the gathering blackness, becoming intangible themselves, their elongated form stretching, spinning around her, covering her completely in layers upon layers of impenetrable darkness; itself growing in size as the shadows spin ever faster, a cocoon of silken black. When the revolution eventually reaches its peak, it bursts outwards to reveal an Origin Forme Giratina in the place of the woman. The circlet, enlarged and thickened, is now recognizable as the crown-like decorations that adorned the Legendary Pokémon’s head. Black streamers writhe like shadowy serpents from its back, searching for prey to pierce their fangs into. 

The smoky voice echoes in Newton’s head, though this time it is no longer as definitively feminine, having low rumbles pitched into its speech. Listening to it now, Newton’s mind envisages the steady, inexorable flow of a subterranean river, shaving off mighty rocks through the untold millennia and filling the deep caverns of the Earth, cold and untouchable. An instinctive dread fills the scientist with the promises of the unknown, just as seeing into wells or caves does not reveal to what end they may lead. 

_-Come with me, Newton Graceland._

If the words are not spoken as gently, Newton suspected that he may have wept in fear. 

A streamer is extended down towards him. Looking at it, laid in front of him readily, and the stillness of waiting as exuded by its owner, Newton grasps that he is supposed to do… 

_What exactly? Sit in it? Climb up?_

He steps forward, reaching out a hand uncertainly for the first handhold to begin his ascent. However, as soon as he sinks his fingers into it, the rest of the streamer writhes around him, creating a curious sensation around his waist that is somewhere like being enclosed in a thick blanket and being trapped in a vortex of cold air. Shieldon leaps for his shoulders, hanging on with its stubby front feet and scrabbling purchase with its back, as Newton is lifted off the ground by the streamer wrapped around his waist and torso. 

Newton only manages to squeak when what he intends is a shout. Giratina’s hold only leaves room to breathe but the experience is thankfully short: Before its tight grip is noticeably suffocating, the Renegade Pokémon has deposited him onto its back, just below the last set of half-rings that is etched on its upper half. The tug of errant gravity from the land below makes Newton lean forward and grasps at the golden half-ring before him with instinctive alarm – Giratina is hovering sufficiently far up that a fall will result in broken bones at best, though likelier is to have his body smashed into a bloody pulp. 

He gulps once, peering to the side at the island below them once he is steadied enough. He is just that close to dying horribly if Giratina’s back lacks the half-rings. Shieldon expresses similar sentiment of relief with its whispered hums. 

Without another verbal warning and with only the stretch of Giratina’s muscle under him to prelude its movement, they are off. 

  


*****

  


The sleep enchantment has long worn off the Pikachu so right now, Arceus is with a company, his sleeping mate aside. Arceus sees no need to renew its charm or prolong Pikachu’s slumber and so has left the Magical Creature to wake up and scampers towards his sleeping Trainer as soon as his legs lose their sleepy wobbliness. Though Ash has been licked clean, their mingled scent lingers on his skin; couple that with his nudity – nevertheless obvious with the covering of silken sheet around his body – Pikachu needs no explanation of what has happened during his slumber and settles himself comfortably on Ash’s outstretched arm without asking further. 

As for Arceus, still in its shrunken form, it occupies itself with the repetitive, almost therapeutic nuzzling to his scalp and neck. Arceus shifts its positioning slightly, to better fit itself to Ash’s sleeping form and hisses as its forgotten ache recurs with the movements, electrifying nerves in its groin, rump and along the hind legs. The holding-back which has roused Arceus to the point of perversion has also affected its human consort; Ash has been all too eager to mate after inducing Arceus to relentless strings of climaxes with barely rests in between, seemingly revelling in Arceus’ decadent hunger for more… 

Fortunately, the mating heat is adequately quenched for the time being. Unless Ash does the foolish thing and starts to seduce it again upon waking, Arceus should be able to cope. 

Arceus snorts. When Ash is involved, hoping for peacefulness is a wishful thinking: Ash is the biggest tease Arceus has have the wonderful misfortune to have as its consort, and Arceus is the worst victim to fall for his charm. He and his charming eagerness is one of the best traits that have landed the human in its palace after all. Even his Aura, sleeping though as he is, is a gentle emanation that surrounds him, rippling welcomingly where Arceus’ own prods, delighting in its presence with an infective pleasure. 

Peeking through one opened eye, Pikachu watches Arceus’ silent grooming for some time before breaking the silence with his chirps, conveying amusement. 

Arceus pauses in its licking to nuzzle a lock of hair out of Ash’s face. _-I agree. He does have a knack to make friends out of the unlikeliest individual._

After all, what else to be said when the first Magical Creature obtained, and one who did not like his Trainer in the first place, turned into the steadfast friend Pikachu is now? Compared to that, Arceus’ attraction to him is nothing particularly extraordinary if his company is a pleasure even to the Renegade Giratina. 

Ash begins to stir in that moment; his Aura is waving actively now, responding to his waking consciousness. Arceus allows him to rouse himself at his own pace, eventually coming to a hazy wakefulness after much shifting and mumbling. The first he beholds is naturally Pikachu who has seated himself right in front of his face, pouncing on the Trainer’s head affectionately before Ash can properly open his eyes. 

“… _Sheesh,_ you know that’s going to put my hair in knots!” 

That said, Ash makes no move to prevent Pikachu from tugging and nipping at his wild hair-strands. What he does is scratching Pikachu on his back with the same congeniality as his companion Creature has shown him. 

Again, that previous wishfulness for Pikachu’s much friendlier size begins to make its unbecoming presence felt – but Arceus wrests itself back into its normal state of mind in time to realize Ash’s groping fingers has found and sunk themselves into the layered fur at the base of its head. 

“Good morning, Sunshine.” 

_-Am I supposed to be offended or flattered with that?_

Nevertheless, Arceus delivers its own greeting by diving into the bend where his shoulders are joined to his neck, briefly nuzzling the Trainer. 

“How many days I’ve slept this time?” 

_-Going with Earthly temporal pace, you’ve slept for nearly a quarter and a day._

Pikachu chirps a surprised _“Pika-pika?!”_ drawing Ash’s attention back to his yellow companion. 

“Yeah, we should get ourselves used to being over-the-top from now on.” He gathers the Magical Creature in his arms, grinning with a hint of intention that causes all manners of suspicion to arise in Arceus’ mind. “That’s shorter time than before. So, tell me: Am I adjusting or I’m not doing a good enough job?” 

There is the tease; surprise, surprise. Arceus can only sigh to that and tries not to be lured into submitting to his devious attraction yet again. 

_-I will say that you are becoming adapted to my Aural resonance,_ it replies; its voice maintained in a cool indifference as if Arceus completely misses the innuendo. 

An eyebrow arches sceptically. His grin widens, showing off his white teeth, but is also conveying how ‘convincing’ Arceus’ attempt at neutrality. Unsurprisingly for Pikachu, he picks up the heated scent that comes off from his Trainer and wiggles out of his embrace. His suggestive barks are completely unhelpful to Arceus’ cause: Of course, Pikachu will not try dissuading his human from partaking in a mating if he has already missed years of it in dismissing the various choices of partners he has had before Arceus. The Legend's body stiffens in reflexive anticipation when Ash scoots closer to its chest, in the process letting his cover slides off his torso until it rests just above his navel. 

“In that case, that means we don’t have to worry about me anymore, does it?” How fascinating that Ash’s lowered voice can entice the Legend so effortlessly. 

Arceus dims its eyes for a few heartbeats, finding courage and mastery that have fled their posts at the first cue of mating opportunity, and stares back into Ash’s eyes after bringing back a level of acceptable resolution in its being. 

_-Actually, no. You are still a subject to be worried about – more than ever now._

He sort-of-pouts by not pursing his lips; instead, he quirks a corner of his mouth in such a way that it is pinched to one side without making it either a grin or a grimace. “Don’t overthink, remember?” 

_-I am not. This is not a pointless worrying, Ash._

Now this is a territory that Arceus can comfortably settle into. Mothering another is as natural as breathing to the Original One. That ‘another’ turns out to be its consort makes it all the easier and more satisfying. Nudging his cheek with its own, Arceus curls itself more firmly about the Trainer’s form: An indirect but effective way of telling just how dearly it loves his closeness despite its words: _-This is my fault. It appears that I have overloaded you with my Aura._

“We’ve done it only _twice.”_

Well, twice and with hours of heavy petting (the last has been remarkable; though only at the very end that Ash proceeded with the main event, hours of teasing and a countless number of Arceus’ orgasms went both ways) but there is still too much influx of Aura into its human mate. 

_-Nevertheless, you still have too much of me in you. Far too much than what I am comfortable to let you endure._

Now, Ash really does pout. He crosses his arms over his chest, defiant. “You’re pulling my leg, Arceus.” 

_-My dearest, I am the last person to reject your company – if that is even possible,_ Arceus says and rubs itself coaxingly, employing everything about it into mellowing its frustrated mate: its mouth, tongue, tail, even its Aura… _-but I fear that it is already taking its tolls on you. If you are not convinced… do you remember our last mating?_

“Of course I do!” 

_-What do you remember?_

“Well,” his arms tighten about him, defiance blended with the readiness to offend, “You saying that your ‘heat’ or something is coming and that you needed to mate, which I helped. We’re… well, we started touching each other then and… and… I mean…” 

He stutters, words failing into an astonished silence despite his mouth hanging open. He stares Arceus helplessly, pleadingly, _What’s happening?_ written all over his face if not spoken out loud from his mouth. 

_-Your body is simply stressed, as is your mind. My Palace is saturated with my essence that you cannot simply leak out the excess._

“…So, am I sick or –” 

_-No, you are not sick. Think of it as exhaustion: When you have been given the chance to recoup, everything will return to normal – your memories included._

“And your point is… what? Sleep some more? I swear, I’m turning into some kind of half-squirrel hybrid or something by now.” 

_-It will no longer be adequate. We need to extract you from here to begin the dissolving. As in, we need to return you to the Earthly Realm._

“Do we have to…?” 

Arceus’ chest aches at the low tone and the equally deflated look in his eyes. It does no help that Arceus itself is loath to advocate his leave if not for Ash’s sake and fleshes its desperation to comfort in the kisses and caresses over all the reachable parts of Ash’s person. 

_-Please, do not be disappointed. I know, it is my fault for not foreseeing it –_

_“Whoa,_ hold on! I’m not… I’m not blaming you or anything. Heck, I should’ve been grateful that I’m here at all.” 

His arms slink around its neck, pulling them closer together but restraining Arceus’ ability to touch. Though at first worried at its limitedness, Arceus’s anxiety does not last long in Ash’s soothing warmth. His skin-and-flesh forehead touches the Legend’s metallic, gold-rimmed one; their breaths mixing in the small space between them. 

“You know this place infinitely better than me. If you say I should go –” 

_-I do not want it,_ Arceus purrs. Relief and sadness makes for a confusing cocktail that Arceus is not sure which of the two to express, _-But yes, for your health, I think it is wiser._

Preferably, Arceus should have conditioned Ash to its Aural influx in the Earthly Realm where the human can learn to tolerate its abundance in a place where his body is used to. Coming to its Hall of Origin and engaging in multiple mating in a span of a couple of days skip so many steps in the ideal process that Arceus should have been amazed that Ash is still up and talking – and quite eager to mate again if Arceus has not pointed out his problem. 

“Alright then. When?” 

_-At the soonest possible… after you wash yourself, of course._

Not that Arceus does not like having its scent on him – and vice versa – but the Original One should reasonably see to it that its consort is presented in an acceptable standard outside of their bed. What a poor mate Arceus would be if it fails that small and basic a task! 

To that end, Arceus flattens itself to the bed and lies itself in such a way as to clue the Trainer into climbing aboard. 

“Damn, you’re not joking when you said ‘the soonest possible’.” 

_-Ash, you know I want you here as much as you do, but –_

“I know, Arceus. Don’t sweat it.” He pats one of the neck-spikes within reach casually but the message he intends in his touch does not reach his eyes. Ash quickly reaches for the stacked pile of his clothes that Arceus has prepared for him as if to hide his own disappointment from becoming too apparent. 

In that moment, Arceus cannot have been more grateful than having the Pikachu draws the Trainer’s attention away from it as Ash works on pulling on his shirts before turning to his jeans. Those lively eyes are simply not suited for a gloomy look; those look, at least, lessens as the yellow rodent squirms into his arms and chirps a long string of assurances. A few quick nuzzles later, Arceus is surprised that those opal-like eyes are turned upon it but not as much as when it listens to what Pikachu has to say. 

_-Oh, that is a fine suggestion,_ A soft golden illumination around its body lends itself an emphasis to the Legend’s delight. _-I will be happy to if Ash will have me._

That sufficiently attracts the young man’s interest, minus his previous sullenness. “What’s that?” 

_-Pikachu suggested to me that perhaps I should visit your place in the Earthly Realm in turn. It is just fair, seeing that you have gone to all these troubles to –_

A quick thank-you peck on its cheek answers the Legend before it even finishes speaking and his sheepish grin speaks that the Ketchum thinks the solution is as brilliant as Arceus finds it to be.


	16. Homeward Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ash's sojourn in the Hall of Origin is ending. As reluctant as he is to leave, it is a good thing that Arceus decides to come along.

Watching the great pillars that support the Hall of Origin, Ash has a terrible sinking feeling as if it is possible in this out-of-this-world place that those ivory beams are somehow sapient and… well, priding their own grandiose to what meagre distinctions Arceus will find in Ash’s little apartment. 

_-Ash, are you feeling well?_

There is a natural concern in the Original One’s voice that Ash happily indulges in knowing that the great creature cares for him. Now back to its true size, Arceus’ legs make for a handy spot that Ash can lean his back to. However, as of now the Trainer merely stands by one of the limbs and, hearing the inquiry, reassuringly strokes along a visible rise of a leg-bone. His worry, like many when they involve Arceus’ possible reactions to the unknown, is mostly baseless – though his house is nowhere near as imposing as this palace, even closer to being laughable, he can at least trust Arceus not to proceed with the laughing. “

I’m good.” Thinking of Arceus’ tendency for a prolonged nervousness, Ash decides to take it off whatever the offending matter it is thinking. “How long are we going to wait? What are we waiting for?” 

Considering that Arceus has been anxious to depart, their current inactivity is perplexing. Arceus has fidgeted all through the waiting time whilst Ash got himself washed and ready in that bath house-that-is-really-more-like-a-chateau, seemingly expectant that Ash will drop and pass out with every moment they remain here. Pikachu, sensitive to another Pokémon’s distress, pointed this out to him with careful little squeaks while Ash took his time enjoying his swim; had hastened the process when he realized that Pikachu was right and Arceus had looked dreadfully tense. 

And now, here they are, standing side by side in the vast hall, practically doing nothing. 

_-Patience, my dear one,_ is Arceus’ answer. _-I sense that it is nearing._

Whatever ‘it’ is, Ash has no time to ask because the answer comes readily to him in the form of a strange wriggling colours in the air. It looks like a ribbon at the first glance, if one made of mist rather than cloth, then the ‘ribbon’ twists into itself into a spiralling circle… looking very much like the beginning of Arceus’ portal, only pinkish instead of Arceus’ multi-coloured one. The crackle of the distortion grows in volume as the spiral matures, eventually forming into a full-fledged gateway that spits out a large, bipedal, vaguely Tyrantrum-ish creature, its huge feet landing with a mighty thump upon the glass-like tiles of the Hall of Origin. 

From its passing resemblance to Dialga’s face, to the white, purple-streaked, robust body with shoulders encrusted with the twin pinkish pearls and down to the muscular, lazily swaying tail, the Pokémon that is Palkia is simply unmistakable. 

With a wave of its gauntleted limb, the Spatial Pokémon causes its entrance portal to vanish in a puff of purple smoke. Palkia then downs its head in a respectful greeting and says, _-Apologies for the lateness, Arceus._

Like Arceus, Palkia’s speech is telepathic but projective; both his mind and his ears hear the voice… a strange voice too, Ash may add. Now, he is no stranger to telepathic speeches at this point though the qualities in those voiced by the different Legendary Pokémon still astonish him now and then. He has grown used to listening to Arceus’ quite androgynous tone, though most of the time it ever so slightly crosses into a deeper and masculine bass. Dialga’s is more akin to Arceus than the Lake Guardians, though sounding rougher and cultured, as aloof and cool as mountain breeze. 

On the other hand, Palkia is… different. 

While the rest of the Legendary Pokémon sound a little like both, Palkia speaks in a completely male _and_ completely female in the two voices which it uses _at the same time._ The effect is a bit like listening to an echo, spoken from a couple that is somehow alive in the gullet of the Spatial Pokémon, a mental image that only adds a dash of queasy horror to the surprise already there. The eyes that are almost the exact copy as owned by Dialga, turn upon him. 

_-Ah. Finally, we meet again, Pikachu, Young Master – though I suppose you are more comfortable with your own name, yes?_

This is the point where a mental hand (or Pikachu’s tail on some other occasions but right now the owner is busying himself with Palkia’s greeting) slaps his conscience back to the here and now, to which Ash responds by smoothly answering, “You bet. Just 'Ash' is fine.” 

Ash secretly applauds himself for not resorting to his typical _Huh?_ and actually realizes that he is being asked, more so that he is able to answer to it. If Palkia realizes that its voice is not the kind that an average human will ever be exposed to, it does not do anything to remedy the slight confusion in Ash’s part. Expressions are quite difficult to achieve on Palkia’s visage, as it is with the other Legendary Pokémon, but somehow the gist of a smile is perceivable from it. 

_-I’ve wanted to meet you personally though the Hall of Origin is hardly the first choice that comes to mind._

“Yeah, I got that from the others too. The hey-I-can’t-believe-you’re-here bit.” 

_-Naturally. If Arceus has asked, I would have been happy to bring you here._

Arceus steps in at this point, literally as well as verbally. _-As I am sure you would, Palkia. But as you can see, it is actually quite… unwise, given his current condition._

_-Right,_ Palkia adds thoughtfully, giving a surreptious glance towards the human over Arceus’ shoulder. -Too much gold, very restless blue. He’s quite resilient though. 

From then on, their conversation develops into mostly gibberish to Ash’s ears, sometimes due to the highly specific terms they use but chiefly because they converse with more than just words. There are occasionally periods of silence, after which follows subjects that seem to come out of the random but is talked about without the slightest awkwardness. A topic about what time it is on Earth right now may develop into a talk of _possible conjugation in the spatial timelines_ after said brief silence occurs. 

However, while his brain struggles to grasp at their disjointed discussion, his eyes make a curious observation as he watches the two Legendary Pokémon. It is interesting to note that, despite being the Dragon Trio’s Master, Arceus is smaller, somehow softer and more delicate-looking than Palkia – and by extension, to Dialga and Giratina as well. In addition, Arceus does not quite conform, appearance-wise, to its Dragon brethren; nor does it resemble the Lake Guardians. It is all too easy to imagine Arceus’ disadvantage if it is to undertake physical mauling from the other Creation Legends… 

…and, at the same time, Arceus ‘feels’ old; the kind of old which brings not brittleness but strength, like an oak tree that grows mightier with age or soil that becomes richer with life-giving goodness as time passes. It doesn’t occur to him as such when they are frolicking and messing around but now, in the firm stance it adopts and the hold of its head, Arceus towers over the physically larger Palkia and, recalling the moment he had first arrived in the Hall, how its displeasure made even the collected Dialga fidgeted. 

Once, before he received his first Pokémon, he had overheard what seemed to be a casual chat between his mother and a visiting Prof. Oak – how, in his words, that people nowadays were losing respect for the very creatures they were entrusted with. He took no concern of the statement then, though as he travelled through the regions and seeing the likes of Cyrus and Ghetsis, it made him glad that he had not fallen as they had; but he should have known better not to let himself be easily lulled into a sense of superiority. Prof. Oak's lament comes back full force as Ash realizes that Arceus’ Legendary status has gradually lost its warning over the years, turning it into a mere fancy title - spending time in Arceus’ company and the obvious lack of Judgement meteors raining down on him do that to Ash’s subconscious mind despite his repeated self-reminders. 

A _“Pika-pi!”_ whispered into his ears makes him flinch out of his reverie and, more importantly, it recollects his attention back to the two Legendary Pokémon, having now concluded whatever it is that they were discussing and are now looking at him intently. 

_-Are you ready to go, Ash?_

The familiar purplish sphere materializes around him after Ash answers that he is. A moment later, he is safely tucked between Arceus’ shoulders and his Pikachu is chirping readiness from his arms. Arceus takes another moment to ascertain his seating and assures itself that Ash has a good grip on its neck before it nods curtly to the other, patiently waiting Legend. 

Palkia, unexplainably curious at the proceeding, shakes its head dismissively and waves a portal into existence, its pinkish edges circling a centre that leads into an immeasurable blackness. 

Staring into it, vertigo catches Ash by the throat and chest so that vomit rises from his stomach and his heart thrashes frantically in its rib-cage. Though he cannot exactly explain it, Ash’s imperfect recollections of the Closed Worlds he had journeyed through bothered him – most are just quick passing of indistinct memories, though the weirder ones bring forth his human aversion to their… otherworldliness. 

_He remembers a world of wide open plain, its grasses swaying to the rhythmic ticking of something unseen –_

_He remembers a world of nothingness but one solid hue, featureless as far as the eyes can see –_

_He remembers, impossibly, of seeing sounds, listening to smells and hearing colours –_

The sickness intensifies as they near the portal until Ash cannot stand his own silence and manages finally a choked, “Wait.” 

Ash’s single word halts Arceus in its track and turns the two Legendary Pokémon’s gaze upon him. Their combined attention is as intense as having a roomful of people staring at him, though weightier is that which comes from Arceus. Even Ash has to wince at the extreme loop of its neck so that its head can be brought to bear on the Trainer’s scalp. Ash pushes away its nudges, gently as to make it understand that it is not a rejection for its touch but rather dismissal for its concern. 

Only after he trusts himself with his voice does he ask, “Aren’t you going to put us to sleep first?” 

_-Not this time. Palkia will accompany us and provide you with a safe passage to Earth._

_-It’s a safer than going through the Closed Worlds – and shorter as well,_ Palkia supplies, indicating with a wave of its clawed hand towards the yawning portal. _-… Well, mostly safer._

“’Mostly’?” Ash has taken shortcuts of his own and most of them tend to end in bumpier rides than he would have preferred. When said shortcuts supposedly span a number of dead worlds, themselves not quite something he enjoys very much, Ash rather have a totally smooth going. 

Palkia throws open a wing unconcernedly in the same way someone would have waved a run along now hand to his kid. _-The probabilities of danger will always exist, though I have minimized them to the best of my abilities. Anyway, you’ve faced greater perils in coming here with only Dialga._

“I know but...” 

In the same way a man never worries of passing close to a cracked floor when he has not fallen, Ash now discovers a fresh concern in realizing that the Closed Worlds are waiting for him. On the other hand, his hesitation is stupid in the light of his past accomplishments, from standing up to rampaging Pokémon to coming to this whoever-knows-where place to actually sleep with a Legend-titled one. 

Besides, these Legendary Pokémon know what they are doing. Arceus especially would not have settled on acting unless it is the best option available to it. 

Arceus nuzzles his cheek gently, though the bending of its neck has reached the point where the Pokémon huffs and puffs with efforts. _-You have nothing to worry, Ash. I will devote myself in protecting you. Palkia will focus on maintaining the path._

_-That’s uncommonly sweet of you, Arceus,_ Palkia laughs, a strange combination of its dual voices chuckling and the physical ruk-ruk-ruk from vocal cords normally meant for roaring. Arceus’ neck snaps upright with instinctive retaliation but Palkia has poised itself ready before the portal, one huge foot already lost in the liquid blackness of its center. 

_-I’ll meet you at the other side,_ and Palkia plunges the rest of its body into the swirly portal before Arceus’ retort can become words, the tip of its tail being the last to be swallowed with a faint, watery plop. 

That the subject of its scolding is gone, Arceus is left to nurse its indignation, ears swivelling and head tossing vigorously not unlike a restless Ponyta. Ash’s careful hand on the side of its neck is met with a defeated sigh, a shake of its head and a return nuzzle to the Trainer’s neck. Arceus managing to be simultaneously comical and terrifying is perhaps its real Ability compared to Multitype, Ash suspects. 

“Palkia’s right, you know.” He loves being spoiled by the Original One, however weird that sounds and looks, though from one’s impressions on Arceus, it does not seem that the Legend is capable of it. Ash twists a finger in a lush fur where its head meets the neck, tugging gently until Arceus relents to the oft-repeated gesture of assurance with another, much softer sigh. 

_-I should have foreseen this, really._

With only that and no further warning, Arceus rises off the floor and glides into the portal to Ash’s shocked yelps, his casual touch becoming a firm prepatory grip that ultimately proves unneeded: the transition is smooth, barely felt except for a moment’s coldness and pressure all over his body, leaving him with an impression of going underwater. The sensations pass as soon as it comes though, and opening his eyes, Ash discovers that his surrounding of the golden hall has been replaced by a darkened, semi-circular tunnel that seems to extend to such lengths where the end is merely a black point in Ash’s sight. Palkia’s massive, light-hided bulk is centrepiece despite the Legend’s positioning to the side and the tunnel’s impressive diameter, its frame glossy with a pearly sheen even in the shadows of the tunnel. In addition, the darkness reveals a thin coat of purple aura on its body – similar, Ash realizes when he takes a look at his mount, to the flimsy coating which gilds Arceus’ outline, though golden instead of Palkia’s purple. 

Barely losing a beat, Palkia proceeds forwards as soon as the entirety of Arceus has passed through the portal which collapses on itself and vanishes altogether when Ash glances over his shoulders. Though there seems to be floor beneath them, both Arceus and Palkia drift above it in the same manner they did when appearing on Earth, their feet hovering at least a few feet above the conceivable ground yet leaving ripples every now and then. Palkia is especially graceful with its locomotion, its gleaming hide slashing through the darkness; wings spread open like the outstretched arms of a soaring Garchomp. 

“Looks a bit like a… whatchamacallit? You know; that place Dialga brought me when we passed one Closed World to the next…” 

_-… Celestial Bridge?_

“Yeah, that’s it. Not totally though; this just kinda reminds me of it.” 

It is certainly as gloomy as the Celestial Bridges he has passed through, though having discernible shape instead of being like the Bridges’ seemingly borderless vastness. In addition to being dark like any self-respecting tunnel would, the passage projects a sensation like being in the world’s largest glass corridor immersed in the underwater of a seaworld, if said seaworld houses an aquarium with an ocean’s depth. Though he cannot explain it, beyond the invisible walls there seem to flow rapid currents which would have swept its victim helplessly along if it behaves anything like Earth’s liquid water. 

_-The name is a bit of a misnomer as far as ‘celestial’ means. Bridges, yes, but they are more dimensional than anything,_ Palkia adds, sweeping its wings indicatively at the tunnel in general. _-It’s Dialga’s fault, really._

Laughter swells up in his throat unbidden. “So, Dialga called them that because it sounds cool?” 

_-Well, someone – long, long ago, way before your great-great grandparents were even born – mentioned it to Dialga and the name’s stuck ever since._

“What would you call it then?” 

Palkia’s shoulders lift in a very human-like shrug, bringing the wings attached to them bobbing with the gesture. _-Me, I just call it a Crossing and leave it at that._

He trails a finger over the lower bump of Arceus’ neck, knowing that the touch has caught the Original One’s attention by the distracted growl it offers. “What about you, Arceus?” 

Arceus’s reply groans are somewhere between being incredulous and annoyed. _-What one calls this place hardly matters as long as you are through in one piece!_

With a quick twist of its wing, Palkia rolls over, belly-side up, and affords itself a backward view of the Original One galloping after it. _-Ah, I haven’t seen you as stressed out ever since that incident with the planetoid… or was it a comet?_

_-I carry on my back somebody’s son through places no humans should have come in the first place. I cannot see why I should NOT be stressed!_

Though Ash means to soothe the obviously anxious Pokémon, Pikachu has beat him to it and scrambles out of his embrace, up to the second set of Arceus’ neck spike where he makes his perch. Ash quietly promises himself to buy Pikachu as many Pokéblocks as he wants for making his life that much easier whenever he is in a tight Arceus-related spot. Arceus listens to Pikachu’s Poké-speak with grudging acceptance, nodding to a few choice syllables and huffing at others; discussion that mostly escapes Ash’s understanding but with appreciable results even without good Poké-vocabulary. 

For one, the neck-muscles under his hand do not feel as tense as they are a few minutes before as Pikachu continues to say whatever it is he is saying. 

_-No, not at all. I am glad that he is with me. How could I not be?_

Another series of rapid barks and mews from Pikachu. 

_-Of course I can shield him. I AM. But I had rather not subject all of you to these… risks and take things slowly._

Shorter, clipped yelps now, though less fast in succession. 

_-Oh, fine. ‘No pain no gain’, it is._

Palkia decides to intervene at this point, visibly amused and making not a whit of effort to conceal it. Granted, not many people will know how to identify expressions on Pokémon’s faces, though Palkia’s is sufficiently comparable to the more familiar changes he has seen on Arceus for Ash to pick up on its mirth. 

_-Arceus, you know that this place is as safe and as stable as either of us can hope. Ash will be fine, especially with you around._ Another episode of its peculiar laughter follows, continued by, _-Anyway, where is better to initiate your consort than in your own Hall? Surely, a little risk to reach your home is worth the prize._

Just like that, Ash’s buried apprehension of letting Arceus into his place makes a successful comeback. 

What better places, indeed. 

So far, Arceus has never seen his humble dwelling of an apartment; small, disorganized and generally littered with miscellaneous objects that may or may not be trash. Sure, it is a comfortable place to live in with all the needed what-have-you, but it is nowhere comparable to a palace constructed on a wholly another plane of reality. Damos at least had a shrine ready to receive this particular guest – absolutely a non-choice for someone his station, though at least he could have grabbed a broom and started sweeping before letting Arceus beyond the door… 

There’s nothing to it now anyway but wait, see and hope for Arceus to be more tactful than Ash. 

His brooding must have been telling because Arceus asks, _-Is there something wrong, Ash?_

“You know that my home isn’t exactly big, right? It’s not even a whole building, mine is just a… an okay-ish unit in – ” 

_-NOW you’re thinking about that?_ Arceus does not even afford the Trainer an eye contact as it says these. _-It’s yours. It’s the only thing that matters._

“…Well. Just to be on the safe side, you know.” 

Arceus snorts but is otherwise silent, galloping through the dark and strangely fluid tunnel after the leading Palkia with measured, rhythmical strides. Pikachu returns into his arms, crooning comforting noises and cuddling into his chest like a very indulgent Cinccinno. Between them afterwards, there is hardly any spoken conversation except the occasional how-are-yous from either of the Legend, making Ash a bit uncomfortably lonely despite his companions. On the other hand, he has to admit that perhaps conversation is a bit of luxury to be expected from his guardians, considering that he is neither torn apart by those so-called dimensional fluxes or having the passage caves down upon them. 

After what his human brain conceives to be nearly an hour of an uneventful journey, Ash begins to feel a subtle change in the environment – a heaviness of some sort as if air or whatever it is that occupies the Crossing, has suddenly gained extra density. Arceus must have felt something as well because of the jerk in its next step among the otherwise sustained pace as if it is hesitant to go on. An achingly ear-grating screech makes him look up and forward, towards Palkia in front of them, and notices that its previously spread wings are closed every now and then and are rubbed together; the frictions of the rigid panelling create a brief non-music akin to an amateur playing the violin for the first time that makes Ash teeth tighten together. 

Over a pearl-adorned shoulder, Palkia throws a timid glance and coughs awkwardly. _-It seems that we, uh, we are going to have a detour._

_-…‘A detour’._

Those two words would have sounded so much less incriminating if not for the deadpan flatness. 

_-Yes. Apparently, there is an inherent instability for a portal accommodating more than one of us at the exit point._

As much as he is worried of what this may imply, a seething Arceus is a more pressing immediate discomfort that he rather solves as fast as he can. Looking at the distressed Palkia is only a further proof to justify his priority. 

“It’s not going to be much of a problem – right?” That last bit comes out unbidden; things have proved themselves to be a little out of the ordinary when it comes to places like these. 

At the very least, Palkia is happy to jump in and grab at the chance to salvage the situation from becoming worse wreckage. _-Not at all. I’ll just divert our course to somewhere safer._

Much to everyone’s surprise (and Palkia’s relief), Arceus’ imminent ire settles into an understandable disappointment rather than blowing full-force once the initial shock has lost its momentum. Though worried with the extra burden, the sign of it is displayed only in the drooping of its head and deflating of its sides. 

_-I see. Lead the way then, Palkia._

Palkia does, though there appears to be no conceivable sign of them changing path whatsoever. The Crossing continues straight ahead, still as gloomy and not any less dense-feeling than it is before. He and Pikachu find comforts easily in each other; wherelse with Arceus, Ash feels the Legend’s attention being mostly invested in its surroundings rather than its passengers. Of course, the speculation is made before Ash notices that Arceus’ unseen protection for him has intensified to the point of visibility. He and Pikachu are now surrounded by a barely-there layer of silver-and-gold aura, making his skin and Pikachu’s fur luminesce peculiarly. 

_-If you feel even slightly off, tell me straightaway, Ash._

“Oh – oh, yeah, I’ll do that.” Its address has come out of the blue, startling Ash as he is beginning to content himself with the silence. “I think you’ll know about it when it happens though – _I’ll tell you if I feel anything, I swear!”_

He adds that last part in haste, seeing its stern red pupil being fixed upon him unyieldingly. Thankfully, Arceus decides to leave it at that and refocuses itself to its front. The Original One’s distress, Ash realizes with a little dismay, has returned full-force despite all of his pep-talks. In Arceus’ defence though, it is a lot easier to be calm and optimistic in one’s own house than being out in the middle of nowhere. 

Sometime later which Ash has no idea how long since, Palkia raises one of its claws for a halt and peers over a spread wing, eyes bright as Arceus’ would in times of concentration. Vibrations rattle the Original One’s torso as if it is purring though no sound whatsoever reaches Ash’s ears; Palkia cocks its head sideways, listening to its unheard words and flexing its wings in a gesture whose meaning is as lost to him as the rest of their conversations. 

He taps carefully on Arceus’ lower neck-spike. “What’s going on here?” 

_-Hold tight. The exit is near._

“Here? Right now?” 

_-Ash, HOLD!_

Ash cannot explain it well even if he has the time and metal capacity to register what follows Arceus’ warning: Both Arceus and Palkia lurch forward roughly, the former’s inertia bringing Ash smacking headlong into the back of its neck. That alone has disoriented him, though it is an expected effect to a normal action. What throws him off completely when he has seized Pikachu more securely into his arms and recovers from the shock is the sight of the Crossing’s dark walls racing past him – or perhaps it is the other way round – that the world itself appears to him highly skewed as if distorted through lenses. Though Arceus’ legs move in the same pace as they did before, Ash perceives a sensation of _acceleration_ in the way he is pushed backwards by the steadily building pressure on his chest. At the same time, everything around him seems to stretch to the point where they are compressed to the thinness and flatness resembling coloured spaghetti strands rather than solid existences. 

He feels like shouting, though his voice is whooshed away by the unseen wind and leaving him gasping soundlessly. Helpless and clueless, Ash does the only thing he can and find his grip – and thus, security – on Arceus’ neck. The warmth of its body and its protective aura greets him in return, quietly reassuring, and Ash hugs the Legend ever more tightly. Through the wind that fills his ears, Ash realizes that there are snippets of words between the Legendary Pokémon that manage to somehow reach his ears. Most are disjointed to the point of insensibility but one particularly strong mental-shout filters through the prevailing wind: 

_-Arceus, we need to transform!_

Though no words come from Arceus, Ash knows that the bright red flash from its eyes signify shock of the unpleasant sort, which makes him wonder what kind of trouble they are running headlong into this time. Yet, Ash can feel that Palkia’s suggestion is nonetheless being carried out because he can feel flesh and bones under him shifting and changing; a bright glow begins to permeate through Arceus’ hide, suffusing its white-and-grey furs with the gold it is characterized with. Instinctively, his eyes pinch shut and he leans forward blindly to better his position for whatever may come – 

– but finds that his hands pass straight through what should have been the solidness of Arceus’ neck. 

In shock, he opens his eyes but shut them just from the thin sliver of light that pierces into his retinas; there is nothing to see, from what little he snatches in that barest of time, except a blinding and painfully intense whiteness. His eyeballs throb from the momentary exposure. Even with them closed, the back of his eyelids are red from the brightness beyond. 

Just as he thought that being blind is bad enough, a worse turn happens as the forward-rush now enters a dizzying spin. With his eyes forced shut, Ash is subjected to such a state of disorientation that the best he can describe his current conditions is like being thrown into a vicious twister that only an enraged Lugia can spawn. Arceus is seemingly non-existent then – not only does he lose his hold, as far as he can tell he is no longer seated on the back of the Legend, the only other living thing being Pikachu whom he is desperately holding on to for fear of losing the Pokémon as well. 

Thus, it is to his greatest surprise and relief when he feels a solid body coming into contact with his after having nearly yelled himself hoarse calling for either of the Legendary Pokémon. A pair of iron-hard arms wraps about him protectively and shields him from the worst of the tearing gust that constantly threaten to pry them apart. 

“I am here,” croaks a familiar-yet-unfamiliar voice. It is rougher than Alice should have sounded but the rest is recognizable as the voice belonging to Arceus-incarnate. “Hold on to me.” 

He does, all the while keeping Pikachu close to his chest and between his saviour. Another few seconds of the stomach-turning spin lasts before it is ended all too abruptly with a vicious impact on his back, which he realizes belatedly that he has been slammed to a stop unto a thankfully unmoving ground. Ragged gasps which are neither his nor Pikachu’s are breathed near his neck. There is a stranger’s groan from around him though he can guess to whom the voice belongs. As he lay there trying desperately to catch his breaths, Ash becomes increasingly aware of additional voices from somewhere to his side; gasps of shock at first before they become unconcealed whispering (and giggling, if he is not too dizzy to mishear them). 

Somebody – somebody whom he thought he knew – is snapping at the anonymous crowd. 

More giggles. Leaves rustle; hurried footsteps trample the ground nearby, shifting and moving. 

“ – no shame at all, damn it, can’t they just mind their own business –” 

Ash hazily realizes why the stranger should sound familiar: the unmistakably male voice resembles Palkia’s minus the resonance of its feminine twin. 

On the other hand, the mumbling in the background still does not ring any bell. The thumps of feet rush further and further away, bringing the whispering throng along until both the voices and their footsteps fade from the vicinity. The recently disturbed leaves around them settle into quietness. 

“You can open your eyes, Ash,” says Palkia’s voice, “and _you_ can let him go now, it’s safe.”

Doing as suggested, Ash is met with a curious sight of human Arceus – a male human Arceus, whose face being tucked close to him being the source of the breaths that warm his neck. More angular than Alice’s yet still delicate in general, a he-Arceus is just as confusingly attractive as a female-forme one. As a matter of fact, it is only because Ash has seen what Arceus looks like as a woman that the face before his eyes now are vaguely recognizable as that of a different gender. His nose is still gently pointed, the eyelashes just as long and thick – 

“You are not hurt, are you, Ash?” His arms unlock themselves from the Trainer. The hand raised to brush away the wild hair which has strayed across Ash’s eyes reveals something that nearly makes the Trainer laughs – The sharp, golden nails are a little too absurd even though they may likely be a conformation between Arceus’ beastly and humanoid bodies. What stops his comment dead in his throat is the unflattering redness of Arceus’ eyes, undisguised and unmistakable as to belong to someone decidedly non-human. 

Palkia, on the other hand, is seemingly unsurprised if a little concerned. 

“You’re not fully transformed, Arceus,” Palkia hisses while his eyes dart from one location to another; senses that are on full alert relax when no potential eavesdroppers are present. “You know, as peculiar as it is, it is fortunate that those people are too… shall we say, _distracted_ by the fact that we are lying in a dark and secluded bush to notice your appearance.” 

True to form, Arceus’ scarlet pupils flare in the same manner like its feral self does when alarmed. Now that Palkia mentions it, Ash does indeed spot the gleams of fang-tips as the mouth closes and opens without speech whilst he struggles for elusive words. The ears are also a little too long and pointy to be entirely human – they more resemble the extensions on the sides of a Gardevoir’s face. 

“Do they really, now?” The twists of his lips flicker uncertainly between grimace and humour. 

“Outrageous, I know.” Unlike Arceus, Palkia is definitely smirking. “… Not that we didn’t give them any reason for that though.” 

Palkia has a point, Ash reflects – Nobody with common sense could have conceived that Ash has just survived an inter-dimensional travel when there is a much more relevant, normal context to be associated when lying in their current location and in such a way. Their dimly-lit and apparently isolated spot and the look of their now-crumpled clothes hammer the final nail in the coffin. That they are all currently of the same gender probably does not matter that much to them, if at all. 

Suddenly conscious of Arceus’ weight sprawled atop him, Ash’s cheeks begin to flood with warmth. 

The Trainer touches Arceus on the forearm, asking release. Arceus does so immediately, at once worried and sheepish at Ash’s oxygen-starved gasps. Ash is again startled by the inhumanness of his partner, this time concerning his strength, when Ash nearly ends up with his face flat on the ground when Arceus only means to help him to his feet. His gasp fortunately alerts the Original One, who seems to be as surprised as Ash that what should have been a helping pull is backed by the force of a hard yank, and swiftly readjusts himself so that Ash finds himself caught in yet another saving embrace. 

Palkia, still not the least surprised, raises an eyebrow knowingly. “Come on, Arceus. You need to finish changing before you end up breaking his bones.” 

Indeed, Arceus’ saving grip on his shoulders do hurt a little bit despite the hands looking not at all strained from the hold. Ash has not said anything but Arceus lets go with a horrified look that Ash usually makes whenever he accidentally messes with stuffs he should not have and finds that something is broken in the process. 

“It’s okay, I’m fine. See?” He rolls up the sleeve to reveal his forearm. It aches distantly though there being no marks remain on the skin. When Arceus watches him, he can tell that the inspection goes beyond the physical. Ash wills that only the good vibes remain to be read in whatever Aura he is projecting to Arceus’ senses. 

Hell, it does not even qualify as a flesh wound, let alone to be worried about. 

Arceus struggles to let himself be convinced. It takes a few more seconds before he gives his (very reluctant) nod and beckons to the patiently waiting Palkia. 

“Help me hide.” 

Palkia does not move forward as expected – actually, Ash does not know what to expect with the confusing request – but flicks a wrist lazily. It seems at first like a denial though the assumption is very quickly falsified by the light that emerges from Arceus’ transforming body. They bend around the Original One in a tight, impenetrable circle around him, defying rules and common sense as Ash knows it, instead following the motion of Palkia’s gently rotating forefinger as they swirl around the increasingly hazy Arceus as if he is the conductor to the light’s orchestraic performance. Certainly the cocooning light appears to be more solid than any photon-based structure should be – being forced into a constricted area combines the rays into a luminescent wall instead of flooding the general area with light. 

Weird though to watch, it does serve to conceal the tell-tale lightshow during the shape-shifting process. It is not a particularly outstanding light-bursts to begin with… then again, they _have_ been welcomed by an unwanted and unexpected crowd upon arriving. None of them is keen on attracting them for a second-round viewing. 

Especially with someone like human-Palkia around. 

Whilst Palkia oversees the short but potentially interruptible transformation, what light is available sheds some details on Palkia’s chosen disguise: A young man being about Ash’s own age. Perhaps paralleling its beastly appearance as best as it naturally can without becoming too auspicious, human-Palkia is a redhead dressed in a casual grey jeans and white shirt. Completing his look is a jacket: white with grey and purple stripes on the shoulders. 

All in all, Palkia would not have looked out of place whatsoever as a hero in a teen drama or a chick flick. No wonder the now-gone crowd had been giggling. 

The rest of the process goes on undisturbed, thankfully. Ash recognizes the sign of it finishing as the ball of light collapses inwards. The vanishing glow reveals in its place Arceus’ new, completed look… which is not too surprising, considering that Ash had a glimpse of it just a few seconds ago. The most prominent change is the clothing – light, cotton-white shirt and grey jeans replace the blouse and pants while the hair is shorter though not by much. Thankfully, the fingers do not end in sharp or gold-painted nails. 

Pikachu leaps forth, catching Arceus by the shoulders and scrambling to stability upon it. The sniffs Pikachu gives are affectionate and approving. 

“That looks good,” Palkia rumbles in the same tone Pikachu would have used if he is capable of human speech. “You really know how to fit in with these humans, do you?” 

Arceus shrugs – neither an agreement nor a denial. “I have had the chances to train, if that is what you mean.” 

Looking good aside, Arceus’ newest form is intriguing to the Trainer. He looks as human as any human there is… but he is peculiarly familiar as well. Ash cannot tell who Arceus reminds him of right until he sees the signature flank-wheel, now miniaturized and disguised as a pendant that hangs from a short chain around his neck. A fuzzy sliver of memories comes knocking on his brain’s door. 

Other than the more casual outfit and the characteristic green pupils, Arceus resembles… 

_…Who?_

_Who I’ve seen before that looks like Arceus-as-a-man?_

Not Damos, he knows that for sure. However, this person that hovers at the edge of his mind is connected to Arceus in some way as well, and if Ash can trust his guts feeling, it also involves epic battles like that between Dialga and Palkia… only on a much larger scale. 

_Battles more disastrous than between them… the only thing worse than having a Dialga-Palkia brawl is a clash involving even more Legends than those two…_

_…but there wasn’t any such fight, wasn’t it?_

_There’s no way I can forget something as big as Legendary fights… right?_

Ash is gawking though the fact only comes home when he realizes that he is being inquired, peered at, touched and generally scrutinized until he is quite sure of hearing Palkia’s chuckles in the background. Pikachu may have done something or it can be Arceus’ intuition – either way, Ash finds himself overwhelmed that the shadowy Arceus-lookalike is driven out of his mind. 

“Geroff, Arceus!” He hisses when he has had quite enough being babied especially in front of Palkia. “I told you I’m not hurt!” 

Arceus backs away, his face unreadable. 

Somebody less occupied with shame would have noticed. Pikachu certainly does but any mention of it is whisked away by the pleading he sees in Arceus’ gaze. This happens discreetly as Ash straightens himself up and begins to look at his environments. As far as he can see, they are surrounded by darkness and bushes almost as high as his chest in some places. 

“…Where are we?” The night is moonless; the stars that glimmer above them do not provide enough lighting to locate any distinguishing landmark around no matter how Ash strains his eyes. 

Palkia’s eyes glow contemplatively in the gloom. Unlike Arceus, Ash notices that his pupils take on the hue of grey as dark as the late-summer storm clouds. “This is the outskirt of Celestic Town, on the West side of Mount Coronet.” 

“But that’s impossible! Kanto is nowhere near the…” After a few delayed seconds of bewilderment, Ash’s mouth drops open. Understanding does not make the confusion any less thick. “…You’re saying that we’re in _Sinnoh?”_

“Yes, well… it can’t be helped.” A careless shrug. Ash suspects that this is the human equivalent to the wing-swinging Palkia did in its Pokémon form. “…I mean, wherever scarce places viable for multiple portals in Kanto are not exactly private. We are bound to attract attentions… more than we already did, anyway.” 

This sounds like a little dodgy explanation, though Ash is not too keen to point that out. He is lucky as it is being back on Earth rather than being left drifting in the Closed Worlds. 

“None of us have attempted anything like this before. Better safe than sorry.” 

Part formal explanation, part consolation, Arceus says this awkwardly, unable to decide which favoured approach. An alarm goes off in the Ketchum’s mind – Arceus is rarely uncertain unless it is treading a very wobbly matter to begin with. Something must have happened that makes him doubtful, though for the life of him Ash cannot remember anything spectacularly shaky to have caused it. Pikachu’s resigning glare from his place on Arceus’ shoulder only makes the alarm in his brain blares on a higher note. 

“Speaking of which, you are definitely safe now, Ash.” Palkia looks up to the dark sky, up at the multi-layered clouds that predominate a large portion of the space, and nods to something Ash neither sees nor understands. The upper portion of Mount Coronet is just visible at the top of the trees when he follows Palkia’s gaze skywards. “Unless you _really_ can’t reach Kanto by yourself, my task here is done.” 

To his surprise, Palkia sweeps him into a hug and kisses his forehead. Ash’s moments of puzzlement settles once he realizes that the gesture is more akin to what his mother does to him rather than what he receives from Arceus. Come to think of it, Palkia will have to be absolutely out of his mind if he tries to do what Ash initially thought of him doing with his Master around. 

“Be safe, Ash Ketchum,” Palkia whispers into his ears. Though Ash cannot see it as he returns the hug, he can tell that Palkia is smiling. “My best wishes for you both.” 

No hugging is in order for Arceus, though they do exchange a farewell gesture of some sort. Ash can only assume that there is more than just the polite nodding on both sides (or maybe it is what it is – he reminds himself that as parts of a Trio, the Legends are never truly separate). Soon, he and Arceus are watching at a dark patch of clearing where only a few seconds ago was occupied by a pink-rimmed portal, through which Palkia has passed through – and transformed back to its normal appearance, it seems, for Ash’s last glimpse has been the end of a thick white tail, newly formed and enlarging to Palkia’s usual monstrous size. 

This leaves Ash quite alone with Arceus, barring only the Pikachu hanging customarily on his shoulder. Without the distraction that is Palkia, the Ketchum is all too aware how guarded Arceus has become even though no one else is around… not that he’s one to talk, considering how the chill runs down his back from a good look at their brambly surroundings. 

“We should get out of here and find the town ASAP.” The tall, dark hedges are especially foreboding. He has experienced enough of it to know that they likely harbour powerful and dangerous Pokémon, neither which he has any wish to encounter at the moment. 

“I agree – but Ash?” 

The Ketchum pauses and glances back; he has quickly decided upon one of the few available trails that cut through the tall grasses. The group Palkia has shooed away must have come and go through one of these. 

“Yeah? Something’s wrong?” 

“… that is not the way to the town. However, _this_ is,” and Arceus indicates another path that leads to the opposite direction to the one Ash has chosen. From where they are now, it does not look any more distinguished than his own choice; on the other hand, Ash is not the one with super senses to tell where to go without getting themselves lost for the whole night. 

“Well, come on! I don’t know about you but I’d rather be out of here quick.” 

He grabs for Arceus’ wrist in passing, completely oblivious to Arceus’ surprised yet relieved expression for the contact, and pulls his partner along the new trail. Well-trodden and littered with footsteps upon further inspection, the path seems much more promising and a lot more comforting as they walk through it, their feet making scrunching noises on dead vegetation underneath. It is the only noises there save for their (read: Ash’s) breaths and the occasional calls of the otherwise unseen wild Pokémon, and a little too silent on Arceus’ part to be comfortable. 

“You feeling okay?” 

Arceus looks down at his held hand, then looks back up again into Ash’s face and nods a 'yes'. An afterthought occurs to him when Ash, resigned with his cluelessness, lets go of his partner. 

“Ash, when we arrive in the town later…if I did something that embarrasses you or you are not comfortable with, please tell me. I do not know what is acceptable to you when being around others.” 

_Oh, so that’s what it is._ Palkia’s amusement and his resultant embarrassment now make sense when pieced with Arceus’ sudden withdrawal. 

_…dammit, I’ve made a mess. Again._

“Hey, don’t think too much on it, okay? Just act natural.” Too bad Ash is famously terrible with consolation, “…Look, you do whatever you want. I shouldn’t have snapped, I’m sorry.” 

Now he sounds impatient, which is equally bad as being annoyed – but Arceus is just glad to be rid of his uncertainty and follows after Palkia’s example to kiss his forehead, almost reverently so. “I will try my best not to be a shame, Ash.” 

He loves the gesture but not what is said to him. However, as disturbed as Ash is, he really does not want to have a delicate discussion while being worried of being mauled in the dark from Scyther or Machamp or whatever the hell that makes the grasses over there rustle. He does, however, promises himself privately to straight things out once they are properly settled in town as he pulls a very compliant Arceus along the path with him, making sure to hold just a little bit tighter for the assurance. 


	17. A Refuge On The Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little change in one's schedule surely will not be too much of a trouble, right?

Lake Verity is a liquid mirror, reflecting the setting sun on its calm surface and casting burning red tinge to the water. Smaller than the other Sinnoh lakes, more pond than lake actually, it nevertheless manages to be beautiful; a vista enjoyed by Dawn as she stands at the bank. For the moment though, her thought lingers not on the environment but on the legend surrounding the place, of the Legendary Pokémon of whom she has had her first-hand experience of meeting. Somewhere in its watery depth, the lake holds the Being of Emotion. 

With some wistfulness, she recalls her circumstances in encountering the Lake Guardians called Mesprit. Her first one had been merely a spiritual projection – a barely substantial representation of Mesprit floating above the water – while her mind was being warned of an incoming danger. Said danger was eventually overcome, the rewards being to see Dialga and Palkia released from Team Galactic’s clutch, and from thereon she will always remember the brief bond she had made with Mesprit as Ash and Brock did with the rest of the trio. Dawn wonders if her friends reminisce the event as often as she does. 

Speaking of friends, Dawn cannot help but feel a pang of disappointment that they haven’t had the chance to see each other as frequently as they should. 

Their region-trotting has come to a halt, or at least Dawn’s had, when she had won and decided to stay as the resident Grand Coordinator. It is every Pokémon owner’s ambition to be distinguished in one’s own careers – Trainer or Coordinator – and Dawn loves hers as much as the next person. At the same time, she cannot help but feel a little wistful of the days long gone. It does not occur to her at first until years later, when it struck her quite out of the blue how long it has been since she saw her friends in the flesh. Brock has his studies to pursue while Ash… well, he alone continues with his journey before it reaches her ears of a certain Ash Ketchum winning across the regions, yet taking no formal title of Championship. It baffled her before but seeing Ash in person, she now understands his reasoning: without an official title or domain, he flies from one place to another as he desires rather than be anchored to one spot. 

Perhaps concerned with her quietness, Empoleon hummed a deep bass tune to catch her attention, which it does; she smiles back and gestures to her Pokémon to continue his swim around the lake. Reassured, the penguin Pokémon returns to his lazy swim, alternating his flippers instead of flapping them together for speed. 

Dawn watches her Empoleon for a few more seconds before she decides that, yes, the water does seem too tempting. Too bad she does not come here with water-splashing in mind, so having no appropriate swimwear or at least spare clothing that she can change into. So she does the next best thing and removes her shoes and socks, sighing as the cool water soaks her up to the knees. The lake’s association to the Lake Guardians earns it mystical and revered reputation that calls for people far and wide, yet not many people outside of the locales from Twinleaf actually swim in it. Dawn knows better that Mesprit will not be upset for enjoying the lake, unless some Hunter J-wannabe decides to drop another dimensional bomb into these waters. 

_Well, nothing’s like that gonna happen now,_ she muses, splashing water with the swinging of her feet. _And this feels very, very nice…_  
  


‘Nice’, however, disguises the churning of water deeper down. 

On the surface, nothing is actually notable until Empoleon’s water-affinity senses the unusual current swerving crazily in the depth. A quick dive sends him back to the surface, honking urgently, his flippers moving in tandem, speeding for the bank. Empoleon is being as quick as he can be to reach Dawn, who is already alarmed by both his speed and his sounds, but the fastest Floatzel could not have reached her and brought her out of the way before the fledgling whirlpool Empoleon had noticed forming underwater growing to reach the surface. 

No natural whirlpool could have formed so suddenly and so powerfully in these calm weathers at sea, let alone in the confined, limited water of Lake Verity. 

Instinctively, Dawn scrabbles for purchase in the dirt as soon as she feels the pull on her feet, but it is either too little or too late. Her hold is torn away; the vortex grows, becoming monstrous and ever more ravenous, overwhelming Dawn and Empoleon’s efforts as they are sucked into the bottomless blackness, cascades of water pouring in after them, darkness closing in from the above, cold and clammy and somehow loud – 

Light; white and painfully bright – 

The sensations of falling down, down – 

Empoleon’s agitated growls following closely behind her, herself screaming into the void… 

Her sight flashes with glimpses of something huge. 

The shrieks in her ears are deafening, drowning her own terrified scream as a huge maw gapes open before her, red gullet disappearing into a hot, black depth. That the maw does not swallow, instead swerving just enough to the side, does not make the experience any less frightening. The long, gravelly screeches haunt her as a serpentine mass soars past: something grey, huge and distantly familiar, its passing creating windstreams that buffet her and her Pokémon into an uncontrollable tumbling through the sky – 

_The sky…?_ Her sight is still hazy at best but there is no mistaking of their falling and the ground that waits far, far below. 

Said ground, to her mixture of bafflement and fear, is something like an island without the sea to float in, only air. In that moment though, she understands. 

_Distortion World!_

And, just like how suddenly they have been sucked into this place, Dawn realizes that the weakening gust is caused by her fall slowing down the nearer she is to the ground. The same peculiar change happens also to her Empoleon, who gurgles confusedly as his fatal drop turns into a safe and leisurely descent seemingly without reason – which suits Giratina’s haphazard domain perfectly fine, come to think of it. 

“Hey, you there! Hold on!” 

The voice is not immediately traceable because a much stronger shriek-roar echoes through the world: Dawn manages to turn herself around to face the source of it as she would in the water, finding none other than the Origin Forme Giratina twisting and roaring through a mass of noxious cloud just forming in the aftermath of the portal’s birth. Seeing the Pokémon’s obvious rage in its savage noises and its rapidly clicking mandibles, Dawn fears for her life and Empoleon’s. 

“Grab your ‘mon, miss, and take the rope! I’ll haul you in!” 

This time, Dawn does notice the shouter – a lanky, shabbily clothed man, standing on an islet a little to their left and, true enough, with coils of rope held ready in his hand. This he throws with the finesse and practiced ease of a cowboy, sending the rope whipping through the air before the random gravity eases the length into gently floating towards her. With Giratina behind and the whole wide expanse of the Mirror World around her, Dawn sees no other option but to do as she is told. 

“Sorry, mister,” Dawn cannot help the panicky tone despite her best efforts once they have landed safely on the tiny floating land, “but shouldn’t we go hide before Giratina find us?” 

“We’re already found, miss, and that’s the least of our worry. I’d say we better stay where it can see us, especially when Giratina’s hunting.” The man pauses, thoughtful, coiling in his rope without apparently being conscious of the act. “You look a lil’ bit familiar, if you don’t mind me saying so.” 

“Oh, sorry, I don’t –” 

But now that they are closer, and with one less fear to be concerned if the reasoning a bit ambiguous, Dawn realizes that their saviour is not a total stranger. Meanwhile, Empoleon is in a friendly greeting with the man’s Shieldon. 

“… Professor Graceland?” 

“Yeah, and if my mind’s not rusty, you’re with one of the kids who’d saved this place and Giratina… Was it ten years? Twelve?” 

His smile is at least the same – broad and showing a lot of clean, white teeth – if the man himself is a little more rumpled, or that his face is showing more lines and his hair has more greys than she last remembered. 

“Yes, Professor Gra –” 

“Oh, don’t bother yourself with 'professor'. And you’re Dawn, you must be.” 

His surety is unquestionable. To Dawn, it feels less like reencountering a one-time ally and more of familiarizing herself with an old friend. “It’s nice seeing you back… sir.” 

“It really is – though I wish the circumstances are less hectic.” 

As if to impound Newton’s point, the land-shaking roars from above draw their gazes where glimpses of the Renegade Pokémon – sometimes the swish of a tail here, the coils of its body there – emerge randomly before disappearing back into the dark, cloud-like fume. Though now certain that they are not being preyed upon, the chaotic sight of it unnerves her, her imagination building from what little she can see of the ‘hunt’. 

“Why were we sucked into the Reverse World?” 

“A simple matter of being at the wrong place at the right time.” He gestures towards the Legend – or, more accurately, at the closing vortex through which she has fallen through. “You happen to be where Giratina’s going to open the portal anyway and…” 

Newton falls himself into a lengthy pause. However, the furrowed brows and the Braviary-intense, yet far-off stare suggest of mental gears turning in his head. A few seconds later, Newton is thoughtfully looking at a screen held in a robotic arm, itself emerging from the weird bag-pack he is carrying. It makes for peculiar scenery – a pondering, ragged scientist standing before her, the Shieldon and Empoleon chirping and grunting conversationally to the side as if this is the most natural thing in the world, while the background is echoing with the haunting, angry screeches of the Renegade Pokémon. 

“Say,” he says quite suddenly, the screen-holding pole retracting with a click and whirr out of their sight, “You were at Lake Verity on the Earth-side, right?” 

“…Yes?” 

“Interesting, it is. Curious, very curious…” 

This seems to be more of a monologue rather than a statement, and indeed Newton does not indulge her further why-ever the ‘it’ is interesting or curious. However, Dawn is not about to be deterred or satisfy herself in the sideline when she herself is involved in this matter. 

“Please, Newton sir, what’s happening?” 

Newton jumps a little, as if only being reminded that he is now with an extra company. “Oh? Oh – sorry, lost myself a bit there.” 

For the first time, Dawn notices that the haggard scientist is not only so regarding his clothing. His skin is slightly pallid even for someone who has made his second home in the Reverse World and dark patches line the underside of his tired eyes. His face is a little too concave despite his naturally scrawny frame. 

“As I’ve said before, Giratina’s hunting – and what it’s hunting is the strangest part…” It is an extraordinary story that is unfolded to her. Most other people would have dismissed it as a cock-and-bull or that the teller is a complete nutjob, but Dawn has had her shares of the extraordinary to know better. So she believes every word from the scientist even though he is basically telling what sounds like the beginning of an apocalyptic end to Earth with the compromised dimensional stability and an unknown entity capable of rampantly passing through between Earth and Distortion world while creating disruptive ‘holes’ in the process. As for the culprit itself, Newton has only a vague idea of its identity – 

“ – though Giratina persistently refers to the entity as the Intruder,” Newton finally concludes, much to Dawn’s confusion. 

“Giratina…?” As far as she can remember, Giratina has never spoken but in its own terrifying noises or the whole miscommunication with that Shaymin could’ve been more easily avoided than not. 

“When you said _Giratina refers to it…_ Does it actually talk?” 

“Alright – maybe not that many times. Though Giratina never calls it anything else when it does decide to talk.” 

…Of course, Giratina has spent its life in isolation, in a world occupied solely by itself. Likely, talking is not something so casual to it that Giratina may have dismissed it to favour direct action. 

“The thing is, this Intruder doesn’t seem to have reliable pattern of appearance for us to track. The best I can deduce is that it usually pops in and out of Sinnoh region. Out of thirty-four detections in seventy-two Earth-hours, about 98% of it occurs in Sinnoh and about three-quarters of those occur –” Dawn’s blank stare must have been noticeable because Newton coughs himself to a halt. “Anyway, I cannot tell exactly what factors determine its location of appearance but places with inherent dimensional flexibility – where portals can be easily created – seem to be one of them: Mount Coronet, the lakes, the ruins…” 

There are more places which she is not too familiar with being quoted but most of them are drowned anyway by a particularly loud shriek from Giratina. This time though, Dawn sights more than just the coiling, writhing mass of the Renegade Pokémon; a blacker smoke than the purple of the toxic cloud, moving voluntarily rather than swayed along in the wake of Giratina’s motion. Dawn curiously follows its flow, realizing and startled a few moments later as the blackish smoke shows hints of humanoid form if legless… 

…and there, right at the front where a vague form of a head is, is a wide split that makes up for a grinning mouth. Two glowing dots serve as eyes, tingeing the head-blob with reddish glow, made all the more sinister when they turn upon her. 

Dawn shivers with a sudden, unexplainable chill; her little heart screams with instinctive alarm. 

“Newton – !” 

_“GET DOWN!!!”_

The smoke dives towards them, its movement lightning-fast, but Giratina’s deceiving bulk follows after it with the same speed and nimbleness. One of its black streamers whips forth, cutting the black humanoid smoke – the Intruder – off its path just as Newton and Dawn roll out of the combatants’ way; the red spike at the tip of it scrapes along the ground when Giratina pulls out of its dive sharply, jaws opened wide and mandibles gnashing terribly with fatal threats. The sudden but brief chaos leaves Dawn in panic, having lost sight of Empoleon in their unthinking dodge. Much to her relief, the Shieldon comes bounding out of the swirl of dust-cloud with the Empoleon behind him, and received by their respective Trainers with relief. 

Giratina is yet to give up on the pursuit – most likely never will, if the Intruder has not opened a portal for itself. Giratina gives out a strange, anguished cry as the portal – actually less of a gateway than a rip in the reality – begins to bleed the same toxic cloud from its ragged edges. Its streamers thrashing back and forth in an angered frenzy, every stroke desperately sweeping and dissipating the cloud while Giratina’s jaws thrust ahead to reach for its prey – 

– but miss as the shadow slinks just out of its range, and slithers to its escape into the tear. 

The Renegade roars after its prey venomously but the abundance of smoke flooding into the Mirror World seizes its attention more than its lust for vengeance and sets itself to mending the damage. 

The blob grows at an alarming rate that reaching Giratina’s size takes only about a few moments from mere human-sized puff – and grows larger and wider still, threatening to paint the whole space dark with its poison. 

Newton sighs mournfully at Dawn’s side. Understanding Giratina’s priority does not make the missed catch less disheartening. “Oh… but we’ve tried so hard this time... and Giratina’s losing patience the more it fails…” 

Giratina is recognizably seething despite its inhumanness: the red-glowing eyes and the grinds of its teeth and mandibles are too objective to be otherwise mistaken. Silenced by the view though the threat is not for her, Dawn keeps herself down and near the scientist, who has fallen once again into strings of monologues that she can barely understand with all the goings-on around. His Shieldon settles himself down in a manner expectant of a long-time-waiting, though it must have been only a few minutes later that Dawn decides to interrupt his meditation. 

“I’m sorry if this isn’t the right time… but do you think it’s going to be a problem to let me go back to Earth with, you know, how things are right now?” 

“It shouldn’t be. If it’s a portal created by Giratina, that thing stays clear from it.” 

Unsurprisingly, Newton is back on board of his think-a-lot train though this time, there is much less monologues and more of that distant staring. There is no question that while getting Dawn to Earth is not a problem, finding that Intruder is a subject that occupies the scientist to the point of zombification. 

“Newton, I was just wondering…if both worlds are connected and this… Intruder is passing through them, why not try detecting it from the Earth side?” 

“I’ve been considering it, as a matter of fact.” His flat tone is rather discouraging. “The thing is, Distortion World manifest changes that I can detect more easily than Earth. And Giratina’s by far the only thing it seems to be wary of…” 

He breaks off momentarily to look up at Giratina. By now, it has cleared away the worst of the toxic haze which leaves only a few considerably-sized clouds to be dealt with instead of the world-covering blanket it threatens to be just a few moments ago. Having witnessed the extent of Giratina’s protectiveness of its domain – and by extension, Earth – Dawn is not surprised that its uglier mood can scare the toughest of opponents away. 

“You know what? I’m not doing as much as I can anyway from here.” 

Newton’s transition from weariness to abrupt conviction startles Dawn from her own thoughts. Shieldon eyes his master curiously alongside Empoleon, though making no effort to get up as the latter does. Dawn does not know if this is another one of his monologues gone loud or if it is a declaration intended to her. 

“Carolina’s new project – you know, the Pokémon professor – may have instruments that can help us. If nothing else, two heads are better than one. Or three, if I can get Rowan interested.” 

The sky – for whatever passes for one in the Distortion World – is being gradually but surely cleared of the toxic cloud. Giratina’s efforts do not waver all these while; it works mostly in silence now, its anger and the noises marking it being expended into the cleansing instead of unleashed uselessly at the now-escaped prey. However, no one has any doubt of its temerity, knowing that once its cleaning task is done, Giratina will be more than ever determined in the pursuit. 

“Assuming Giratina’s letting me go, that is.” 

  


*****

  


Ash is used to waking up in an unfamiliar place, so long as he is not on the street and Pikachu is by his side. This morning, he does so in a small but cosy room, with walls made up of timber-planks and simply furnished with a table, a chair, a small wardrobe and the bed where he is lying on now. The yellow furry bundle that is his Pikachu stirs on the pillow next to his – an everyday comforting sight – but the light pressure on his shoulder makes him wonder for a moment and tugs him fully awake in the next. 

Too-green eyes meet his stare when he turns around and that jogs his memories back into place. 

The wood-and-plank room he is in is one of the rent spaces of the Mountain Hut Maid Café, in fact the very same Moomoo milk café which Ash and his friends once visited years before. For some inexplicable reasons, Arceus had insisted on redirecting their routes; and so, having trudged their way through the new but equally disorienting darkness and tall grasses, had more or less came across the joint; were surprised to find himself recognizing the maid sisters Autumn, Spring and Summer as they passed through the café’s door, and were in turn gladly welcomed by them; and eventually, after a few rounds of chatting and several glasses of refreshing Moomoo milk, invited by the sisters to spend the night at their place which, as it turns out, houses a couple of guest rooms upstairs for their travel-weary customers. 

Which is how and why Ash finds himself waking up in an unfamiliar yet homely room which Autumn has graciously prepared for them, simply but adequately furnished for use. The eyes’ owner is none other than Arceus, still in his human male disguise and in the day-clothing in which he had manifested – or ‘Aidan’ as he has introduced himself to the ladies of the café (cue giggles). 

Arceus smiles back at him and nuzzles his nose to Ash’s head in its true Arceus-y fashion. “Good morning. I hope that’s enough sleep for you.” 

The nuzzling is admittedly a little bit awkward with Arceus not appearing as a Pokémon but also too trivial to be mentioned. A meaning does not change with the appearance of the doer, so Ash simply accepts it for what it is and reaches up with his hand; catches the older man’s cheek to stroke it, just as he normally does to the Pokémon when he is in touchy-feely mood. The skin under his palm is soft and delicate, almost like a woman’s. Amazingly, Arceus still croons pleasantly when touched so, the noises he is making are a little too rough and deep for someone with his appearance. 

“Slept like a log. You?” 

“I did not sleep.” Arceus pulls away, studying the incredulity clearly etched on the Ketchum’s face. “I am not used to sleeping, Ash. Meditation comes more easily to me.” 

“Well, as long as you’re rested.” 

He slumps back into the bed, happy to just lay down and continue his sleeping – for some reasons, he feels much too tired for the hour-long walking they went through last night, considering that he is used to much longer distances and with lesser rests – but Arceus’ careful fingers squeeze his shoulders assiduously, hooking him from slipping away. 

He sighs resignedly. “What is it?” 

“Breakfast is already being served downstairs. It sounds like the café is filling with customers.” 

_Oh no, not again…_

“Do I have to?” Ash groans into his pillow; his cheeks are beginning to warm up with shame, which he is desperately trying to hide. “I don’t want to go walking around in a maid dress.” 

_“…What?_ ” The hold on his shoulder becomes a vice-like grip that he cannot fight, so he surrenders himself to being turned over and looked on by the human-Legend’s curious stare. “What is this talk about wearing a _maid dress?”_

“Um, well –” 

It kind of being a little too late to not say anything now, now that he realizes Arceus may not be sent by the maid sisters to help them with their waitressing at all. So he plunges himself into the story with as brave a face as he can make despite the feeling of hot embarrassment burning in his stomach, beginning with Brock leading him and Dawn, to the café to Autumn’s disobedient Miltank, to the café’s need of extra hands with their customers, eventually culminating in the answer to Arceus’ curiousity when he and Dawn decides to help out. When all has been finished, Ash finds himself sitting on the bed without being aware when he has wriggled out of his blanket – with the now-awake Pikachu curling in his lap and making an admirable attempt at unaffectedness (though Ash can still see that Pikachu is close to giggling) – and waiting somewhat nervously for Arceus’ comment. 

“I have to say, that is quite… interesting. You must have made for a comely waitress.” 

“That’s not something a guy can be proud of!” Ash bristles without meaning to, and feels that it is justified either way. “Me and Dawn was just helping! With Autumn’s out training they didn’t have enough hands here!” 

Granted, he would not have done it without necessities (albeit with a lot of reluctance) – to get his gym battles, to help other people, that kind of stuffs – but for some reasons, confessing the cross-dressing fact has a more lasting embarrassment when the listener is Arceus, while he would have otherwise quickly brushed the matter aside. 

“Better you than me,” Arceus chuckles – chiming sounds that have not lose their miraculous calming effect with Arceus’ transformation – “You can get away with it fine, I suppose. I will not attempt anything of that sort; it is enough concern for me to keep a low profile.” 

Not really true if ‘Aidan’ by himself is turning heads as it is, with the maid sisters (Spring, especially) making failed attempts at sneaky glances when they were serving late dinners to the disguised Arceus last night. Even Ash has to admit that his companion is quite the looker – a rather androgynous one, sure, appearing either beautiful or handsome on the perspectives and different lighting, but still attractive in its own way… 

Another surprise: Arceus leans forward and brushes their cheeks together – a normal greeting from Arceus in its Pokémon forme but unexpected in the current appearance he chooses. 

“And you can come out of your imagination spot now and get yourself a breakfast before it is too late.” 

Ash has to wonder if the mood whiplash is something innocently unintentional though the gleams in the other’s eyes suggests otherwise. In any case, there is not much sleep left in him after a talk with that kind of topic so he simply proceeds to stretch himself to get the blood flow going, then goes on dressing himself over the boxer in which he has slept. There is a little nightstand installed in their rented room – a simple affair of a pipe to deliver water and a basin to hold it – where Ash washes his face, his neck and arms to constitute for the proper bath he does not feel like having at the moment. He knows that there is a public bathroom somewhere on this building; maybe he will consider a quick shower later. 

Right now, his belly does begin to ache for breakfast of some sort, and the bell is ringing tellingly downstairs. 

However, with Pikachu hanging on to his shoulders and one hand already halfway on pushing open the door, Ash realizes that Arceus has not made any indication of moving from the edge of the bed where he has been sitting ever since Ash opened his eyes. 

“What, you’re not coming?” 

“I have ingested far too much than I should last night.” 

Ash rolls his eyes openly. “That’s just one glass. Moomoo Milk. Nothing else.” 

“And that _is_ a lot to me.” His hand drifts over to the pendant which rests on his chest and palms the disguised flank-wheel absentmindedly, though to Ash it reminds him that eating is a normally an oft-forgotten option to the Legend. 

Ash can see that further persuasions are not going to get them anywhere with Arceus being so adamant about it. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.” 

The café is a local joint more than anything else; the place has already served a number of the local customers by the time Ash appears in the main serving area. Some are like him – last night lodgers – while others seem to be folks from nearby settlements, either Solaceon or Celestic Town, and still a few of them are Trainers coming in to rest or seeking battles from like-minded people. A crowd is forming around one of the tables in a corner, the centre being that of a fast-talking man. Ash would have heard what is being said if his attention is not ensnared by Summer and Autumn, both of them weaving between the tables, taking orders and serving the occupied ones, their movements so fast that they seem to glide from one spot to another. Busy as they are, Ash lets them be for the moment; instead sidling up through the back door and down to their dairy barn, where he finds the brunette-haired Spring tending to their herd of Miltanks. 

“Hi, Ash, Pikachu! You look much better today!” Smiling openly at his approach, she directs him to one of the nearby stool whilst resuming her works on fitting the milking contraception to the last Miltank. 

Though Ash hopes that maid-dressing is not in order today, he nevertheless asks, “There’s something that I can help you with?” 

“Oh no, not for today. We can handle it so far. Hold on.” 

She moves on to another Miltank; fills a glass and a bowl with fresh milk from the machine and hand them over to Ash and Pikachu. They both gladly accept the offers which they finish in about five gulps. She proffers to them another round of Miltank goodness, though this time Ash declines it while Pikachu receives his with just as much enthusiasm. 

“So… where’s that friend of yours? Aidan, is it?” Asking this inevitably gains her a faint pinkness on her face, which Ash has no trouble interpreting with the ways the sisters have looked at this ‘Aidan’ before. 

What Ash is not so sure about is this misplaced uneasiness – not quite jealousy, not really insecurity – in realizing that Arceus’s attractiveness is not limited to the Ketchum only. He really should have expected and be prepared of this kind of situation when he has already been thrust into Gary’s shadows. 

At the same time, Ash also realizes that he has no ready-made excuse for the so-called Aidan’s absence; so he spurts out the easiest excuse: “He’s still sleeping in. You know, being tired and stuffs.” 

“I see.” Her face falls for a moment but recovers to the wide-smiling girl she usually is. “I’m not surprised. It must’ve been tiring to walk that long.” 

He has had longer, more arduous treks made in his past region-crossing and tells her so, adding further that what discomfort he feels anyway is easily fixed with rest and a good meal. The last point is further hammered home by the untimely growls from his stomach. 

“You should try our new additions to the breakfast menu; you can order them from my sisters inside.” 

But Ash declines in favour of staying there. At the clicks from the milking machine, she begins checking the collection vat for the Miltank’s milky produce for the day. The amount of bottles being semi-autonomously filled from the huge jar seems to satisfy her, though some of the cow Pokémon still has more to give. She waits some more until all of the Miltanks are done, at which point she unlatches them from the machine and releases them out to the field to graze. Ash is glad that he has stayed: No doubt Spring can transfer the milk-filled bottles into the cart all by herself though there are dozens of them to be transported back to the café which will have tire her quickly. At first, Spring steadfastly refuses his help but Ash has his own history of being adamant, and so wins her over and begins labouring beside her. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Spring mutters quietly when they have at last finished loading the little carts, which they are now pushing back to the café. “… but thanks. You’re always a help to us.” 

“Don’t mention it.” While helping is in itself nice, it is a thousandfold nicer that he does so without needing to don himself an outfit more suited for Dawn. 

For his trouble, Spring herself brings him to his seat at an empty table where there are less people and what crowd is there is not as rowdy, and sets for Pikachu two extra bottleful of milk which they have helped haul from the barn. Ash chooses a Watmeal-berry-and-Miltank-milk porridge when listed the café’s available selections, and Pikachu points towards a set of Poffins-and-Miltank-milk, whereupon she disappears into the back once their orders are noted. 

While Spring does pick a relatively quiet place for them, the noises from the other side of the café are still clearly audible, courtesy of one particularly loud yet shrill voice, quite belying the skinniness of its owner which, in a loose, dirt-soiled shirt, khaki pants that are too baggy for the branch-thin legs, appears even more diminished. This, Ash notes, is the same man whom he has seen talking before leaving for the Miltank barn. 

“I’m telling you,” the high, loud voice recites solemnly, “those ruins are haunted! I swear on my graves-to-be I saw Misdreavus and Dusknoir and Chandelure –” 

Ash secretly raises an eyebrow; Pikachu does not look any more convinced than he is. Ghost Pokémon do indeed roam some parts of the town, but _Chandelure?_

“Bet you’ve seen Confagrigus too, didn’t you, Hal? Swallowed a poor chap or something,” says another voice whose talker is lost in the crowd, his mood unconcealingly sceptic. 

“But I did! Once, I saw this guy, he’s just about to start in the whole ruin-exploring things, and –” 

“We got a lot of those folks around here before they’re off again: Hikers, adventurers, archaeologists – the likes.” 

Summer’s voice interrupts but not loudly; these are said in a soft, whispery pitch that greatly contrasts the blusterous story-telling. Her face does not betray a wrinkle of scepticism that is present in her voice as she places their orders on the table. Summer’s expression changes into one of resigned amusement, as somebody who has heard a story repeated for the thousandth times. “I’m sorry if the noises are disturbing you.” 

He confirms that they are not troubling whatsoever. As that Hal guy is shouting something about seeing ‘a great Wurmple, three times the size of the biggest Arbok, coiled up in one of the chambers inside the Solaceon Ruins’, Ash has to say that he must have an enthusiastic imaginations. Still, he has experienced his fair shares of outrageous tales over the years, and some did have a grain or two of truth. 

Thinking that this Hal might have mistaken a red Gyarados with said Bug Pokémon, he asks, “You have any idea what’s that about?” As Gyarados is not exactly synonymous with a calm temperament, any one of them – blue or red – near a populated location is very probably a disastrous thing. 

“Story-telling is in order when he’s around,” she simply replies. “He’s as maniac as Ruin Maniacs go. Comes in during the weekends; rest of the days he’s in Solaceon ruins.” 

Her opinion is apparently shared by the majority of his listeners who, as much as Ash can gather, are listening out of curiousity for the latest stories he may have rather than believing him to be a source of news. A few are simply there because there is no place in the café that his voice cannot reach, and even less are actually open with their annoyance. 

“Enjoy your meals,” and Summer thus leaves Ash and Pikachu to do just so. 

Hal the Ruin Maniac has not relented from his bouts of story-gushing so Ash has the privilege of listening to increasingly outrageous accounts – including him having to confront a herd of tomb-guarding Bronzong – whilst he finishes his breakfast. Pikachu has long abandoned his initial interests on the Ruin Maniac and loses whatever shred of fascination whatsoever when the Poffins and milk are deposited before his eyes. Ash smiles into his spoonful breakfast when Hal insists that he has been visited by one of the Lake Guardians (not an impossibility per se, but Arceus has been explicit in stating that they slumber indefinitely when nothing calls for their attention). 

Hal’s stories do not seem to have any ends to them, so Ash, full and rather more interested to be back into his room, approaches the maid sisters for the bill (which they insist on accepting only a quarter of what it is worth, as a token rather than payment) and hurries upstairs. Though waiting must have been an easy task for a cosmic-level being like Arceus, Ash has no idea whether turning itself into an Earthly guise will affect its perception; Ash feels like he has gone for a tad too long if he is waited on by a true-to-the-bone human. 

He reaches for the doorknob, not bothering to knock first, and pushes the door open. “Sorry, I know I’m a bit late –” 

Pikachu’s high-pitched, questioning _“Pika?”_ stops both his words and his steps on the track for he suddenly realizes, with a feeling like his stomach is dropped with a couple of boulders, that the room is completely and inexplicably empty, silky curtains fanning the windows which now stand open whence they had been previously closed upon his leave.


	18. Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A decision makes all the difference.

The voice is tiny and frail. 

It speaks only to ears who listen beyond the visible plane. And it calls, even now, to those who may yet hear when others will not. 

Arceus listens, closely and with sympathy. There are more efforts expended to send the senses into the realms beyond because the human disguise limits power, suffusing it into the golden ring already absorbed into the temporary body. 

The voice grows tinier and weaker. 

Thought-speech reaches to thought-speech, one comforting the other. 

The extraordinary green of his eyes are hidden behind the closed lids but Arceus nevertheless sees. However, its sight is not that of the homely, boarded little room that Arceus has contented himself within to wait. Instead of the bed upon which he sits or the table or the closet, Arceus’ mind wanders through dark hallways lined with walls of solid, sandy-coloured bricks devoid of torch-flame which would have long ago illuminate the place. Now lightless and seemingly deserted, Arceus gropes with the thinnest tendril of its consciousness, fearing unintentional excessiveness that may destroy when it originally seeks to calm. 

The voice’s presence reaches back with the feeblest of connection. Hurt travels through it to Arceus, dark and agonizing. 

Pity thus overwhelms the Legend-in-disguise. The listening has been by the purest of chance for Arceus keeps its metaphysical perceptions reasonably ready in those various forms it is capable of wearing. Once conscious of it though, how can it pretend deafness – and being so near as well? For the most parts of its life, Arceus’ destructive power has forced it to observe from the sideline lest its meddling will risk more severe consequences – but now… now, perhaps there is no such concern. 

How it tugs at its heart! 

Always one being susceptible to sympathy, his mind is made in that second though as Arceus pushes open the window and beholds the sunlit ground that lay open before him – the voice and the presence behind has come from beyond the field – a thought of another resurfaces in the mind’s eye. What of Ash Ketchum who promises to be back and will surely do so sooner or later? He will not be long down there, Arceus surmises, and what if he should find the room unoccupied? 

The simplest thing will have been to wait for Ash’s return… but the voice is weaker, dragging itself closer to the silence of death. No healing can be done while the other is an anonymous and they are so separated. 

_He will understand,_ urgent pity speaks for the warring pulls in his divided mind. _I will not be long. If I am late nevertheless, he can choose to wait._

The distant voice whispers; the pain tears through it and the echoes which reach Arceus is only slightly less so. 

_If he does not,_ Arceus reasons further, nervous now to go and with hands ready upon the windowsills, _I can always find him again. His Aura is ridiculously noticeable._

With those self-reassurances, Arceus hauls himself out through the windows, holding on for a moment or two before releasing his grip. A normal human would have likely sprained his ankles if not damaging them and his knees, but Arceus, possessing of the grace of Magical Creatures, lands upon bent knees to absorb the 2-storey-fall impact then bursts into a sprint without missing a beat. Arceus escapes notice from all those within or near the café altogether for nobody is there to witness the human’s suicidal leap from the back window, nor of him making his way to the bush and tall grasses and to disappear among them. 

Neither of them knows then, but if only Ash is a little faster or Arceus hesitates a few moments longer, they would have crossed each other’s path as the Trainer emerges from the dairy barn. As it is though, such event does not come to pass and Arceus is alone in his tracking. 

For Arceus, needing speed as much as stealth, he has opted to hurry unseen through the little tracks carved from the passing of the occasional humans through the unkempt scrubs. To transform would have attracted undue attention, more so in clear daylight, so Arceus runs as fast as his human feet can endure – and that is in itself a remarkable sight if anyone watches. He is barely a coherent figure in his swiftness, a fleeting form in the bushes, silent but quick as a pursued Jolteon; more flight than a run. The miles diminish quickly under his feet, more often off the ground than on for more steps are taken by Arceus by the time a man would have managed one; and each stride is a long one. A walk that would have taken three hours becomes a quarter of that, and Arceus neither slows nor hesitates in his bearing, guided by the connection which grows ever feebler by the second. 

He is led finally to the base of the hill, upon which sits the infamous Solaceon Ruins. 

A brief surge of nostalgia washes through Arceus as he climbs the high stairs built on the side of the sheer cliff-wall. In the long-forgotten history of humans, yet fresh still in the mind of the Legend, many more people than the few Trainers and historians have once trodden the path to what would later become the decrepit ruins they are nowadays; their majesticity then was incredible that they were among the tallest buildings around for hundreds of years, attracting people for miles around to gaze upon them. 

Once, these were a complex of buildings which functioned as shrines to Dialga and Palkia. 

In times long gone, the Guardians of Space and Time walked the Earth far more regularly than they do now; those people then, having caught glimpses of Magical Creatures far more terrible and powerful than those they saw in their everyday lives must have had their fascination ensnared, spurring their wild imaginations to heights that Palkia and Dialga themselves paid not much heed to… 

The stone likenesses that guard the entrance testify the admiration to the eventually-deified Legends. Products of the finest skills in stone masonries and sculpturing of their time, the stone Dialga and Palkia are amazingly detailed with their agape jaws in eternal snarls to whoever passes through the door. However, neither Legend whose statues were dedicated to were approving of their position and chose to ignore the misconception than trying to correct them. There was, and will always be, futility inherent in trying to change the ways of the aggressively fanatic. Arceus had feared the same outcome when Damos had announced his plan for a shrine – not a baseless fear, for his ancestors had suffered the same megalomania and delusion – but he was both wise and adamant. He had worked tirelessly to ensure that the mistakes were not repeated, that none of his folks drown in the same dangerous waters as their fore-bearers, a work which consumed all of his life and is continued unbroken to this day by his descendants. Henceforth, Arceus remains to the Michinians as a figure to be respected, even revered, but not worshipped. 

Even as Arceus reminisces all of these, he does not tarry. Through the door he goes and on, following the main passageways until the voice calls from a different direction. His pace is fast and his senses stay true, guiding him down the labyrinthine passages inside the ruins, some serviceable while others half-collapsed. 

The air in here feels old, dense with nostalgia and silent in mourning of those who have passed. While time has ravaged the outside, prying loose stones, bleaching the walls off their magnificent paints and render incomprehensible the ornate carving, the inside is forgotten and left to freeze in the same unchanging moment of its abandonment. Old dust stirs in his passing, making a thicker haze the further Arceus walks. Not a human’s soul is to be seen in its journey though many more hidden presences watch from their hiding. Arceus’ senses acknowledge them all but none is more important than the one whose voice still hopefully begs to be saved. 

Down the stairs, turn left, left, right, down the stairs, straight on, left, right, right, down another stairs… 

He reaches at last a small room in one of the less damaged portion of the ruin, deeper and further than most casual visitors go. Here, Arceus halts in the middle of it and kneels down. Arceus allows its consciousness to expand, searching as gently as he can with his mind for the weakest presences among those innumerable who watch from their shadowy places… 

Then: _-Great One…?_

The hidden presences stir, curiousity and question rippling through their interconnected minds. 

_-It is I,_ Arceus sends his mental whisper out, singling the one who speaks to him, _-Come forth now; have no fear._

Arceus extends both arms forward; the palms turned up and open. A small shimmering light emerges in the middle of his joined hands and the feeble voice grows with it. Arceus recalls his power and channels his own strength in the materialization. 

When the light fades, a small, quivering form of an Unown lay helplessly in his hands. 

If hearing its small, death-stricken voice is difficult, then to finally look at the Unown – whole to the untrained eyes but scarred and greatly diminished of its Aura to those of sufficient perceptions – is a pain in itself that tightens the chest and robs the throat of his voice. Though blessed with a long, enduring life, Arceus is gifted with the unfading empathy to deaths – An aid in guiding his conscience most of the time, it is nevertheless a gift difficult to receive for even the loss of a Magical Creature as unassuming as the one in his hands is a blow. 

With an Aura-wreathed hand, Arceus carefully strokes the Unown along one of its lines whilst holding it gently in the other. The Unown shudders at first before relaxing: Bit by little bit, the inflow of the Original One’s healing Aura soothes both the pain and the fear. 

_-…Others tried,_ the Unown murmurs, more broken hitches than words in the short sentence, _-…But hurt – too bad –_

 _-Hush now, little one. I will heal you._

The other Unown, convinced now that the human among them is not an unwelcomed one, begins to emerge from their various hideouts, be them the crevices in the walls or the veiled layer of reality – a smaller and less elaborate twin of the Earthly realm than Giratina’s Distortion World. They form close and messy circles as they jostle for spots around Arceus and their stricken kin. Their nervous anticipation is intense, echoing from one Unown to another until the small chamber seems to palpitate with their restlessness. 

As for the wounded Unown, a bitter, pungent taint of foreign Aura around it nags at Arceus’ consciousness. There is something vaguely familiar in its feel but which stubbornly escapes his mind’s grasp at the moment. Arceus manipulates its own Aura as delicately as possible to flush the contamination without stripping away the Unown’s essence in the process, in the same way candle-light can be extinguished by strong wind instead of feeding it to burn brighter. A difficult task in itself, it is made more complicated in that there is barely of its Aura left even for a Magical Creature as wounded as it is as if… as if the rest of its missing Aura is somehow _taken_ from it. 

Saying this to the rest of the Unown, they explode into intermingled, buzzing accounts that Arceus has to carefully listen and piece their jigsaw-puzzles of details into one (near-complete) whole: 

_Something_ had appeared to the Unown inhabiting the various realities around the Earthly Realm and herded them into one small Closed World of its choosing. 

That _something_ was somehow able to nullify the Unown’s dimension-skipping tricks to prevent their subsequent flights. 

Many of the Unown captured were in turn slain; rather than their bodies, the survivors realized it was the Auras of their dead kin that the predator fed upon. 

Most perished in this manner but as the predator became increasingly besotted in its feast, the remaining Unown managed to exploit its carelessness and banded together their powers long enough to make a desperate break for it… 

…and the particular Unown that Arceus is holding at the moment is the newest victim when they made their collective escape. 

Arceus looks at the Unown with renewed horror at the sickness which afflicted it. Though the other Unown are too nervous to detail the manners in which their fallen kind were murdered, Arceus can guess a little – and even then, it is enough – from the conditions of this one survivor. It is not the wound of an Ekan’s fangs that brings doom to the unfortunate Rattata but rather the poison administered in the bite. The predator’s tangy Aura is not just revolting – it is a mean to subdue its preys before they – or rather, their essences – were consumed. 

Who, or what, then which fills all these criteria? A being capable of penetrating one dimension to another, seeking other creatures whose Auras it can feed upon? 

It is a delicate process but as the seconds crawl to minutes, Arceus’ efforts begin to show encouraging signs of recovery, starting with the loss of random twitches the Unown is prone to in the beginning. The single eye is no longer as heavily lidded or glazed over as well. Its returning vitality must have been like a beacon to the other Unown for they begin to hum excitedly in their secret tribal languages until at last, they joyously welcome the no-longer-stricken Unown as it hovers off Arceus’ hands to join the rest of its cohorts in their merry flights around the small chamber. 

Just to be on the safe side though, Arceus extrudes his sixth sense further into his surroundings for traces of the predator’s Aura or of any other tainted Unown. Fortunately, neither can be found – reasons enough to breathe a sigh of relief at the moment if Arceus has not allowed its worry to linger on the notion that whatever it was which hunted the Unown is still at large. Who is to say that it is even now terrorizing other population of Unown or, worse still, has acquired new appetites for Auras from other creatures? 

In the grand scheme of things, it is not Arceus’ place to side with any one of the various Magical Creatures playing their roles in the circle of life. What Arceus – and extensively, other Legendary Magical Creatures – is responsible for is the preservation of these multitude balancing acts that make the world turn as it is. However, his latest finding is tinged with some form of detrimental abnormality; a cancerous presence in an otherwise harmonious existences. 

_This,_ more than anything else, is what sets Arceus’ nerves on the edges – that there is unchecked malice threatening the natural orders. 

_-My little ones,_ Arceus announces, the gentle, flowing tone a rarer quality than what he is used to using in addressing others but just as natural. Its telepathic voice reverberates in all the minds of the Unown nearby and stops them dead in their merrymaking: They listen to him not as subordinates would their leader but as offspring to their parent, _-Will any of you tell me where was this… this predator before you escaped?_

A frightened silence meets this request which, to be honest, is not all that unexpected. Arceus will have let them be to find their solace after the harrowing experiences but one Unown soars forth. 

_-I… I’ll show you there, Great One._

Its small, high-pitched voice becomes even more so because of its fear. However, it hovers resolutely in place when Arceus steps up to receive it in his hands. The Alphabet Creature is not without fear but the single eye that watches back at the Legend-in-disguise is filled with determination. 

_-And I will keep you safe,_ Arceus says and the Unown relaxes ever so slightly. 

With the Unown floating close to his shoulders and trailed by another retinue of fifty or so curious Unown, Arceus proceeds to another section inside the ruins where the wide space which once served as a communion hall is located. Here, far from the curious stares of human-watchers, Arceus is finally comfortable to unleash his suppressed powers and reassumes its original feral form. Even the darkest corners which have not seen light for years are flooded with that emitted during Arceus’ transformation; the Unown titter in their small voices, awed and joyful at the Legend revealed in its true form among them. 

The guide-Unown puffs itself out, perhaps trying to match up to the Original One’s composure. It circles around its head a few times; Arceus reaches out with a soothing golden aura, comfort given without speech. It soaks in the gift, bobbing up and down in front of Arceus’ face instead of making wild flights as it did before. 

The (relative) calmness is what Arceus has been waiting for and its many-coloured portal blooms in the centre of the long-abandoned hall. The circle of rainbow, merrier than anything the place has seen for the past century, is a stark contrast to the forlornness that haunts the very stones of the ruins. The otherwise nervous crowd of Unown is fascinated by it, including its guide. 

_-Come,_ Arceus calls and the guide-Unown flies right beside it as they enter the portal’s star-specked darkness and disappear from Earth. 

Back in the ruins’ hall, the brief light Arceus has brought with its presence is extinguished with its departure. Darkness and shadows re-conquer their long-held domains, seeping into every cracks and crevices until some human adventurers stumble upon this place with their torches and flashlights. The murmurs of the Unown is gone as well as the speakers retreat into their hiding. 

Briefly awakened, the ruins are asleep once again. 

  


  
*****

  


Tonio must have stayed up late yet again because when Alice tries to persuade him to take some lunch that afternoon, she finds the man slumped on his desk with his laptop open and running beside his head, his snores a soft compliment to the hums of his machine. Her heart immediately aches and softens at the sight – the pain for the toll his works have taken on her fiancé, the warmth because he does so for their safety and peace of mind. 

Several nights have passed since the mysterious assaults on Alice and Darkrai’s subsequent pursuit of the culprit, with no obvious result forthcoming for the anxiously waiting humans. Only a little semblance of peace returns in their wariness; Alice especially is prone to waking up in the middle of the nights, her body breaking sweats all over and eyes roving around for the source of her fear, only to find that the shadows she has quickly taken to examine are only those cast by tree-branches or ordinary night-flying Pokémon with no more malice than those borne of her imaginations. Her restlessness is perhaps the reason Tonio is adamant himself to crack the mystery behind the assault; wherelse Darkrai is gone in the trail of the attacker, Tonio instead turns to technology and machines to his aid. 

The laptop’s screen is showing a series of complicated graphs and readings when she comes close to the sleeping Tonio – nothing that she can make a sense out of whatsoever. An extensive map of Sinnoh region lays sprawled beside him, draped on the table (Tonio is apparenty sleeping on top of Veilstone city according to the map) and cascading down nearly to the floor. A few locations on it have been marked and scribbled with short descriptions in pencil: 

_“1st detection”_

_“Carolina’s find”_

_“Really intense at 4.00pm”_

And many other little notes beside the marked places, none of which has enough information to Alice to interpret. One of the seemingly newly marked, a quick, decisive sign over Lake Verity, is accompanied by a hastily scrawled _“brief spiking”_ on the side. More simply, Solaceon Ruins and a place somewhere along the road to Celestic are only jotted down with _“???”._

Alice may not understand what all these denote, but she does understand one thing: That eventhough no explanations has yet yielded itself to Tonio’s probing, Alice holds hope close to her chest in knowing that he is hard at work on it. Smiling gently, she touches the man on his shoulder, shaking him gently calls for him in her soft voice; Tonio stirs and, after a few confused grunts and mumbling, he pushes himself off the desk with groggy hands and hastily wipes the drool clinging at the corner of his mouth. 

“Wha – who, whassit?” 

“Come, you shouldn’t sleep here. You’ll be spraining your back before long.” 

“‘m not sleep’n.” He does not seem to realize that the denial ever comes out of his mouth and proceeds to stretch himself as a man just awoken from sleep would. He groans gratefully as Alice comes over and massages his stiff shoulders until he can roll them around again without ouch-ing. 

“Did anyone call?” Tonio browses through the e-mail list in his laptop, then checks his Poketch (he needs something a little more updated, Alice thinks) only to shake his head. 

“No. Were you expecting someone?” 

“Prof. Carolina said that she had something for me to analyse only…” He shrugs defeatedly, in a way Alice knows means _it should’ve happened but it doesn’t._

Alice’s hand lands on Tonio’s head, fingers combing his messy grey hair fondly, and she kisses him on the cheek, making him smile and blush. Though they are no longer merely childhood friends, it does not mean he has stopped finding her little gestures any less grin-inducing, perhaps even more now that she is his fiancée. 

“She’ll call when she should,” Alice says, basically telling him not to worry. “Now that you’re awake, you should eat a little before anything else. I’ve had prepared –” 

Tonio’s laptop emits a shrill beep in that moment, a tell-tale sound alerting to the incoming e-mail. A blinking letter icon appears in the just-then empty mailbox, urging to be opened, and Tonio clicks the cursor on it. A short message replaces the blinking icon, signed underneath with Prof. Carolina’s name and her position in the Celestic Town Research Centre. The message reads simply: 

_“I have something of interest to show you. Come to the lab ASAP.”_

Alice, who reads the words from Tonio’s side, glances at the man with a sceptical lift of her eyebrow. 

“’Come to the lab ASAP’…?” Tonio mumbles. The laptop remains unsurprisingly mute. 

“I won’t have it,” Alice says in lieu of the unhelpful laptop, her eyes intense and disbelieving. “Didn’t she remember that you’re on your way to meet her that –” 

“Alice,” he calls softly, without anger or frustration. There is worry in there but the eyes behind his spectacles are just as intense as the woman’s. “I know you’re scared. I am too… but I think I better go. These attacks… there’s something behind it, I don’t know what, Carolina doesn’t know either, but if we work together…” 

“Tonio,” she sounds distressed, her voice shaky with failing restraint and her eyes glisten with the beginning of tears which she wipes away angrily, “I saw you, lying there on the hospital bed; the first time I’ve seen you since you left home. I don’t want it to happen again.” 

“Alice –” 

“Why can’t she come here or – or send over whatever she’s trying to show you?” Alice says, her teeth biting into her lower lip which trembles uncertainly. Grown woman she may be, Alice cannot keep herself from sounding petulant – not that she finds it unjustified, given her worry and her position. 

In answer, Tonio stands up, reaches out his arms and envelops the woman in his arms, pulling her close to his chest. One hand stroking through the lush blonde locks, he whispers into her ears, “I don’t know why, but Prof. Carolina must have her reasons. You know her, Alice, and while she is many things, she is neither thoughtless nor reckless.” 

Alice sniffs and buries her face closer into Tonio’s chest. Her words are muffled when she speaks but are still understandable, “I don’t like it, Tonio. I don’t want you to get hurt – and we don’t even know _why_ you got hurt before!” 

“And I don’t want you to be in danger anymore,” Tonio replies. He pushes himself away, bringing his hands to cup Alice’s face, so that he can look into her eyes, as blue as the sky but now gleaming from her withheld tears. “Listen, Alice. There’s something going on here and I don’t know what. Best I can say is that it’s not something… natural. The night when you were – were attacked, I checked my instrument, and there’s this huge reading that for the life of me, I can’t understand anything about, not by myself.” 

“So…” 

“Carolina is helping me with it. I have a theory… but I have to get Carolina to check if the evidence – whatever little we get – fits. She can help us, Alice.” 

She clenches her hand on Tonio’s shirt. The sobs are audible now, but Alice is still stubborn to let herself truly cry. Not now, not yet. “Tell me about your theory.” 

“Alice, it’s not verified yet and –” 

“Tonio, please. You’re asking me to let you go on some half-baked assumptions – at the very least, let me hear about it!” She does not scream, she never did in anger, but her voice quavers with the urge to do just that. 

At that, Tonio relents, not just by the gut-wrenching worry his fiancée is desperately trying to hide but also feeling like he owes her that much, if nothing else. He has her kneel on the floor while he himself sits down in the too-hard chair with a creak of protest from its springs, covers the trembling hands fisted on his thighs in one of his own and says, “I don’t know anything for sure but… from what I see, whatever attacked you, _targeted you._ I saw it came from the park but it went straight to where you were; Brock slept on the lower floor and still it went up to your room. I don’t know why, you were more appealing to it than Brock. And, most importantly, from what you and Brock told me, _it was scared of Darkrai.”_

She manages to smile at this. Small, but at least the frown is not that heavy now. “Everyone’s scared of Darkrai.” 

“Even so, that’s something. Besides…” This time, it is Tonio’s turn to hesitate, to show on his face fear which disturbingly mirrors the woman’s. He forges on after a few seconds of hard contemplation, “Alice, _I still can’t remember._ How I came to end up in the hospital, why and who hurt me, everything is just so blurry to me. I remember little else after leaving Alamos. All that I know –” 

Another hesitation. Alice waits, masking nervousness behind the mask of attentiveness to his hair-stroking. 

“– all that I know, my instrument had picked up something somewhere around Lilypad Town when I re-checked the log. The record’s incomplete but I suspect the energy signature is similar to what I detected here.” 

“Tonio –” 

“I know, I know – I sound like a complete nutjob here, and maybe the whack on my head did it on me. But, Alice, something’s not right and _I want to find out why.”_

She sees it then – the fierce determination in his eyes, so easily obscured by the slightness of his build and his soft-spokenness that others simply pass him for another wimpy geek after the first glance. They did not care to see further as Baron Alberto did, but her eyes had seen the determinedness in the man and knows that little can quench his thirst once he recognizes it. For all her own fortitude, she recognizes when a battle is decided and knows that for this, she cannot have convinced Tonio otherwise. 

“Alright,” she sniffs, allowing Tonio to wipe away at a stray drop of tear, “… but you’re not going alone, Tonio.” 

“Oh?” 

“I’ll come with you.” The way she says it is with the confidence of stating that the sun will rise tomorrow and no, Tonio will not have a say in this if he means to argue. 

Tonio manages to open his mouth halfway before deciding it is better to just shut it. Like Alice, he too recognizes a battle not worth fighting. With a sigh, he nods although without much enthusiasm. 

“That’s it, then” Alice says and, with a sudden inspiration that sets fire in her eyes, she adds, “and if he’s up to it, maybe we can ask Brock to come along.” 

Tonio finds the idea agreeable – both of them are not versed in Pokémon battles, or at least, directing Pokémon to fight, while Brock certainly is – if not for one little snag. 

“But he’s a _guest,”_ he mumbles weakly, “and I don’t want us to sound demanding or –” 

“That’s why we ask, not drag him along unsuspecting.” Alice does roll her eyes but the shake of her head is one of amusement. “Celestic is not a long way from here, I’m sure he’ll agree.” 

“Alright.” No point trying to deter her now, and Tonio cannot hide that his relief at being accompanied is just as great as Alice’s. “I’m down with that.” 

  


  
*****  


  


No new toxic clouds have made themselves apparent since Dawn’s accidental entry into the Reverse World with the Empoleon, enough reasons for both Dawn and Newton to heave their collective sighs of relief. A ‘merely’ angry Giratina is not something either of them wishes to be near within a kilometre, five if it is pissed off. However, as Newton takes his time to analyse the Renegade Pokémon’s body languages, he is gradually convinced that while Giratina is restless, it is not overtly vexed that he can safely face the Legendary Pokémon without risking worsening its moods. 

To Dawn, watching Newton relaying his intention to the Legendary Pokémon is a weird scene: Newton seems to be engaged in a one-sided conversation other than the occasional punctuation from Giratina, whose noises are gentler and quieter than its usual shrieks. 

“No, I’m not leaving _permanently…_ I know, but I’m not really helping here, don’t you think? … No, of course not! You’re the most able guardian for the Mirror World –” 

Dawn is amazed that Newton is brave enough to carry on the conversation with the gnashing mandibles not an arm’s length away from his face. She would have silenced herself and falls into yes-sir mode. 

Meanwhile: “Yes, I understand… that’s generous enough, I can’t thank you enough… yes, I think a little scouting is advisable, just in case it’s still in here somewhere…” 

Giratina ends the discussion with a huff and a swish of its streamers, then it turns to soar away until in the distance it appears no larger than a little Spinarak to the two humans it leaves behind. Newton jogs the short distance back to Dawn and Empoleon, his mouth split in a wide, satisfied grin. “That went well, don’t you think?” 

“Um,” Confused, Dawn decides in the next second that she is better off being honest with it, “What’s happening, actually? What did you tell Giratina just now?” 

Newton’s satisfied face is immediately replaced with a “Huh?” expression, complete with the sound to match. “…Didn’t you… listen?” 

“I did, but unless I learn Poké-speak like you did –” 

“But I _didn’t_ learn Pokémon speech.” 

The brief awkward and confused silence loses the latter after a few moments, though the former remains about the same. Understanding comes easily enough to Dawn, having experienced something similar albeit under a different circumstances and with different target. 

“Mesprit did the same to me once,” she says thoughtfully, “back when… you know, when Cyrus gave us troubles with the Legendary Pokémon.” 

“Heard about it, yeah,” Newton mutters under his breath but gestures for the girl to continue. 

“The three of us – me, Ash and Brock – were, I guess you could say bonded, to the Lake Guardians. They talked to us to explain their plan but they only did to the people they chose. Mesprit did with me.” 

“Ah, Rowan and Carolina filled me in on that. I was trapped in here then with Giratina.” 

Newton’s eyes reflexively stray to the distant speck that is the aforementioned Pokémon; something like pity, if Dawn is not mistaken, flashes by momentarily through his eyes. His Shieldon must have recognizes something similar for the Pokémon begins to nudge his hands comfortingly, which he responds by stroking the armoured head. 

“It was… _horrible._ When the Megarig drained away Giratina’s energy, I thought it was bad enough. But then – if you could’ve seen it – you’ll never see anything so frightening and yet so pitiful. Giratina was helpless to stop it, the dimensional stability was compromised enough as it was without Giratina trying to push through as well. All it could do was hold on to this place and hoped for the best.” 

Hoping must have been the least in priority in Giratina’s course of action, Dawn deduces, and being forced to do that and only that when everything else is in total jeopardy is indeed a torture in on itself for the Legendary Pokémon. Anyone with a worthy heart would have hated the sense of helplessness when others need help which cannot be given. 

“What Cyrus did – and what Zero did too – were awful. No matter what you make of Legendary Pokémon, you shouldn’t trifle with powers like that. There are consequences even if you appear the winner at first.” 

Dawn has little knowledge of Newton’s ex-protégé other than that he is currently serving his sentence, which is still better than what could be said of Cyrus. The last glimpse anyone has ever of the man was of him walking into the new world which he has forced Dialga and Palkia to construct under the power of the Red Ring; a world which ultimately collapsed when both were freed mere seconds later, entombing their captor forever in the lonely void. It is a thought that touches her primitive instinct unpleasantly, like tasting the sourness of milk gone bad at the back of one’s throat, and makes her inside wince with the unnaturalness of such fate, beyond the confines of the Earth. 

Giratina’s reappearance catches her by surprise – announced by the barks from Newton’s Shieldon – since she has assumed that they have been definitely left on their own, which reminds her that whatever entails in its discussion with Newton remains yet unknown to her. The Renegade is deceptively swift for its bulk, a fact that remains amazing to Dawn even having witnessed the proof of it repeatedly, and it comes to hover above them, too much like a vast, vicious bird of prey eyeing its mousey preys. 

This is another thing which refuses to leave no matter how much evidence of the contrary is presented to her: the instinctive dread whenever Dawn when being near the Renegade Pokémon. 

She has been in its presence before, true, but her fresh experience of being greeted by its opened jaws upon plunging into the Reverse World weights her mind with a reflexive dread. She forces herself to take courage from Newton’s apparent composure – even serenity – while Giratina initiates another discussion with the scientist. It is still incomprehensible to Dawn other than the fact that Giratina has no mind for aggression at this moment – its sounds, once she gets past the natural roughness of it, are actually rather melodious in their own ways – so she contents herself to merely watch their peculiar talks, trusting Newton to clarify the matter to her once they are done. 

It lasts shorter than the last time. Newton turns to Dawn after just a few minutes of spoken words and deep-throated rumbles; Giratina’s gaze falls upon her squarely, making her shiver with an explainable terror but it stays where it is. Her mind is like that of a rabbit – frantic and twitchy, and under the Renegade’s attention it takes much of her willpower to remain still. Coldness wraps about her out of the blue, muting the scream she intends to let out at the sudden sensation of it; she tries to struggle at first but the voice that echoes in her mind freezes her, feeling the heavy vibrations in her skull that follows each word: 

_-I remember you as well, little girl._

Giratina’s mind-voice is so much deeper and richer than Mesprit had been, tinged with an exotic smokiness that surprises Dawn in the way it seems to slide right into her ears and straight into her brain. Quickly catching her astonishment from being unbecoming, she bows her head down, intending to convey respect and acknowledgement together in the single gesture though shock and inexperience make her awkward. 

Giratina tilts its head to the side in response and says, _-You were touched by Mesprit._

It is not a question and more like a repetition meant to refresh one’s memory. Before Dawn can say anything in reply or ask if something about it is of particular concern to the Renegade, Giratina’s mandibles clack again decisively – its own gesture of acknowledgement, quite different somehow than the menacing clamping it has directed towards the escaped Intruder before. Much to her relief – despite all the evidences that Dawn is in no danger whatsoever, its focus is unexplainably burdensome – Giratina is apparently finished with her and resumes its attention on Newton. 

“Yes, we’re ready,” he answers to a question that Dawn does not hear. 

Dawn wishes she knows what exactly they are ready for, considering that it only applies to Newton with full knowledge of what is going to happen. Her answer comes immediately, in the form of Giratina’s opened jaws that unleash a stream of violently swirling vortex instead of a roar that she comes to expect. If it has been directed in their general direction, Dawn would have unhesitatingly run for cover but Giratina’s head is turned away and its breath fires instead in a straight line away from them. 

Still, Dawn cannot change the subtly tentative way she is asking, “Sir, what’s happening?” 

There seems to be no particular target that Giratina is aiming for. Its twister-breath simply halts mid-air, generating from itself a whirlpool that spins ever faster, drilling in its centre a dark hole which seems to tear into the very space as if it is really on water, rather than the thin air, that the vortex is formed. 

“After that little look-around, Giratina has agreed to help us reach the Earth-side. Rather than finding ourselves a naturally occurring portal – which can send us anywhere – Giratina is creating one with a specific destination.” 

As he says these, the vortex’s heart swells, encompassing the chaotic edges and reforming itself into a full-fledged portal, its edges ragged with tendril-like white lights which make it appear rather like a sun in full solar eclipse. The Earth on the other side is not visible; the centre of it remains swirly, disordered and filled with constantly shifting shadows. 

_-It is done._ By the fact that Newton too turns to look at the Legendary Pokémon as she does when the heavy, growly voice is heard in her head, she knows that this announcement is given to all of them. 

Newton’s Shieldon is closest to the portal, the Pokémon showing not the least doubt to throwing himself into the rather sinister-looking portal, but Newton himself pauses at the boundary of it to look back at the Antimatter Pokémon, for all appearance looking as sinister as its creation while it hovers patiently in waiting for their passing. 

Lifting a hand in its direction, Newton calls out to it, “Thanks, Giratina. I’ll be back once I’m done on Earth.” 

_-Go,_ Giratina projects into their minds, its goodwill and farewell somehow condensed together into the simplicity of that one word. 

To Dawn, understanding what is left unspoken makes the voice that speaks it much less frightening, comforting even, and her fear abates to being a simple awareness to its presence rather than making for a constant source of anxiety. Ever since learning Giratina’s existence in the Reverse World, she has understood that Giratina’s apparent violence is only due to its unyielding watchfulness over the world for which it is its sole guardian, but only now she can find a measure of security in its company as Newton has learnt to, whose time spent in this place has familiarizes him far better to the Antimatter Pokémon than any other humans. 

Dawn bows her head once more, this time with Empoleon imitating a similar gesture. “Thank you,” she manages and the Legendary Pokémon flicks a black streamer in mutual acknowledgement. 

Giratina’s portal waits before them, still appearing rather ominous but Dawn no longer feels as uncertain to follow after the Shieldon – the first to pass into it – and Newton, whose stepping into its shadowy centre is as unflinching as his Shieldon. The portal swallows her Empoleon next who has taken it upon himself to cross before her, and Dawn lets herself be immersed into the writhing darkness. The Reverse World she leaves behind is visible for a few seconds, the last scene being that of a watchful Giratina suspended in the air before the portal’s mouth, its eyes watching after the humans and Pokémon passing through it guardedly – and then the scene vanishes in the collapsing entrance of the portal as they make their way to the other side.


	19. Missing Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is, inexplicably, a hole in Ash's memories, and he is desperate to find out what previously occupies it.

“I’m choosing tails,” Ash announces as if to a large audience though for the moment there is only Pikachu with him who is eyeing his Trainer with a mixture of curiousity and worry. Ash, preoccupied with his current objective, is not exactly oblivious to the Pokémon’s concern but decides to let it take a backseat. “Right. Tails. So, if I flip the coin –” 

Said coin lay innocently in his palm, its edge glinting with the late evening sun only a few hours away from sunset. He plays it in his palm for an extra five seconds and wills the tails-side to show up in the delay; tosses the coin high above his head, his eyes following it as it arcs in the air, then expertly catches the metal piece in one hand and quickly slaps his other hand over the first, trapping the coin in its landing. He brings the two-handed-clasped coin near his chest as if it is the most precious thing in the world. 

“Tails,” he repeats to Pikachu. “If it’s tails, I’m going to wait until tomorrow and if Arceus doesn’t return until then… that’s something to think about later, isn’t it?” 

He uncovers the top hand with a great gulping of air. The coin does indeed lies upon its heads-side so that its hoped-for face is staring back at Ash. He allows himself a small fist-pump, then grows quickly sullen – that Ash is acting childishly does not escape his consciousness. Dissatisfaction creeps its sneaky way into his heart, grown from the tiny seed that has been formerly his shock at discovering the Arceus-free boarding room where he and ‘Aidan’ are _supposed_ to be staying in the café. 

“You’d think it won’t be too much of a fuss to leave a memo or stuffs,” he grumbles, another silly outburst that Ash is willing to let pass, considering the confusing spinning wheel his emotions are playing on him. 

Pikachu is at least in agreement with his Trainer in this aspect. Without a shred of knowledge of why and to where and when he is going to return, Ash is stuck indecisively between waiting for his reappearance or just proceed on their way back to Kanto. On the tail of this irritation is worry, though irrational that may be when one whom he is concerned with is a Legend-levelled Pokémon – his humanness is nevertheless anxious for he has first known Arceus at its weakest, so severely diminished by the cheap strikes Marcus had bought while Arceus was bereft of its vital Plates and helpless to stop the flood of silverwater that was threatening to bury it alive, to be entombed in that underground cavern, underneath its own shrine no less… 

But that was an event belonging to centuries ago, Ash reminds himself in an effort to alleviate his helpless fretting. _That_ worry has no business in the current place and time. 

He having a chance to save Arceus at all in that time was simply because of the unprecedented chain of events which had led it into those unusual circumstances. He, like Damos, had simply been the guy at the right place at the right time… and even then, once given time to recuperate, Arceus was able to return to Michina and proved itself more than capable of answering to challenges from Dialga, Palkia and Giratina at the same time. Arceus has since healed, its collection of Plates now complete and with it, the strength which has been lost in making the Jewel of Life. 

There really is no point of worrying about Arceus, all things considered. 

The Dragon Trio have fought their Master to buy Ash and his friends time to complete their mission and it turned out to be a battle they would have eventually lost even while Arceus was still bereft of its precious Jewel. That alone should have erased any lingering concern for the Pokémon… and hasn’t Arceus prove its capabilities yet again after that? With its might undiminished, Arceus has returned and showed that – that – 

_Showed_ what, _exactly…?_

Ash is utterly baffled – following that line of thought and finding it unconnected to anything makes him feel undeniably lost like a sailor thrown off his vessel or watching into a deep burrow without knowing what lives inside, knowing that there is an inhabitant there only by the sounds coming from within… and, at the same time, it awakens his curiousity as to what exactly he has not known to be missing – until now. 

_“Pika-pi…?”_ Pikachu, anxious as he already is with Ash condition, curls into his lap to regain the attention he has lost. 

The weight in his lap and the soft calls grounds the Ketchum back to the present; he strokes the back of the Pokémon as he always does for Pikachu’s reassurance, though the gesture is not truly honest. A dull throb has begun in his head, centred in his brain, and refuses to abate as Ash prods further into this vague tendril of a memory… 

…but there remains only a yawning emptiness at the end of it instead of anything meaningful: a gaping hole in his memories akin to the jarring amnesiac hollowness everytime he tries to think back on his later ‘sessions’ with Arceus following his meetings with the Lake Guardians. Ash knows with certainty that he did indeed frolicked with the Original One that time by the relaxedness in his limbs and the distant ache in his groin upon waking, though exactly what entailed is lost to him. Arceus has attributed it to his body’s exhaustive coping with the inflow of Aura, too much of it and too quickly – the very reason why they have to cut short his stay in the Hall of Origin – that some parts of his psyche has to give up one thing or another before he burns himself out like a light bulb with too much electricity going through it. 

_That_ forgetfulness has the same feeling to it as this newfound hole though it feels to him like it has existed much longer, borne not recently but rather in his childhood in a place where… where… 

There was a place, Ash is quite certain of it, in the same manner Michina is home to the people led by Damos; this place was a home too for somebody else and… Arceus had done something there – of course, Michina was returned to its undamaged state, there was that – but Ash is sure that there is another feat from the Legendary Pokémon which does not concern Michina but is equally momentous, if not more so… 

_Was it Alamos Town?_

No, not that… but there _is_ an aspect about this shady place in his mind that parallels Alamos. His mind refuses to yield information on the former no matter how much he forces his brain to do so, and so Ash resorts to reminding himself of Tonio and Alice’s hometown for points which he may hopefully find some sort of recognition to this mysterious place. Trusting now to his heart and instinct, Ash reconstructs in his mind Alamos Town as he remembers it – and his conscience seems to spark at the remembrance of the extraordinary crisis the town was forced to endure. 

There was a connection there then, his instinct tells him: a big _(disastrous?)_ incident had happened at this elusive place he yet fails to remember, an event as cataclysmic as the tearing of reality which had nearly consumed Alamos in the aftermath of the battle between Dialga and Palkia. 

_Was that it, then? A time-space distortion like in Alamos Town?_

Then why, why in the world, did he forget about… this place, wherever it may be? Has something traumatic befell him that he is forced to forget? 

He closes his eyes for some peace as he has done back in Arceus’ bedchamber, a long way from where he is now, and ‘Aidan’ floats to his mind… but younger, somehow. And his clothing is not the same ones he had worn when Arceus chose to disguise itself thusly: in place of the simple white tee-shirt is instead a knee-reaching tunic of the same colour with a black sash secured about his waist. The grey jeans are replaced with a pair of black pants, and the pair of shoes is now a pair of worn travelling boots. A long red cloak flows behind him and a turban of the same redness – indeed, it even appears like the mantle and the turban originally comes from the same piece of fabric – is wrapped about his head, showing only little fringes of his black hair. 

However, the pendant that hands around his neck is proof enough of his identity as Arceus – 

_– Does it really, though?_

The tiny little doubt in his heart makes Ash gathers his attention on remembering the pendant – only it is not really remembering, as the Ketchum comes to realize now. As it has been in the Palace of Origin, back in the incense-scented room, his brain seems to work independently, reconstructing things he no longer able to readily recall for him to observe again, sort of like re-watching an image on his holocaster’s screen or having a photo album opened before him, showing all the pictures taken which he himself does not realize being even there. Whether this peculiar phenomenon is attributable to the incense – which Ash personally believes – or being a quirk of Arceus’ inherently-abnormal place, the effect remains with him until now though a little less potent. Ash intends to use this capability to the fullest before it vanishes, whenever that may be. The hole in his mind which he has not even noticed beforehand is becoming too compelling to ignore. 

_Oh yes, the pendant…_ In his mind, the object looks similar to the one Arceus wears in its Pokémon forme – but it is not exactly the same upon closer inspection (remembrance?). The shape is roughly alike but the pendant lacks the green gems embedded in the spokes as in the original object. As far as he recalls, Arceus in masquerade has never failed to materialize its flank-wheel in some form or another, and with no discernible difference whatsoever other than the size to accommodate its chosen disguise. 

Ash’s head hurts the more he tries to remember, feeling like a cockroach is struggling to get out from the deepest nest of accumulated memories, old and dusty and forgotten from his immediate consciousness. It revolves around Arceus somehow – a knowledge which he should have known but is now running out of his reach. The flank-wheel, for one: Arceus has worn for himself an exact scaled-down version of it as a pendant but this ‘Aidan’ in his mind possesses one that looks like a reproduction of the original thing… 

_Not ‘Aidan’._

Ash is struck by the new insight, if insight it really is, and somehow it rings true to him without further explanation. This man in his mind is not Aidan-the-Arceus-in-disguise. He concentrates harder on the image of him, observing every visible inch of him with his mind’s sight, searching for further clues for him to key in of his identity if he is not really a humanized Arceus… 

_His eyes._

Perhaps Arceus’ most striking feature in its human body are the eyes – uncompromisingly green with a tinge of gemstones to the shine like an emerald under the sun (Come to think of it, other Legendary Pokémon’s disguises he has seen so far also possess eyes of extraordinary looks, like Dialga’s ocean-blue or Palkia’s steel-grey ones). This man has a pair of perfectly ordinary brown eyes. 

_But surely Arceus can change the colour of his eyes too if it could transform its entire body…?_

A voice in his heart tells him that while it may be probable, this is not the case. Also… the closer and more thoroughly he examines the image in his mind, the more he realizes that this man – 

_(His name has ‘B’ somewhere in it… Bailey, maybe?)_

– this man’s subtle facets about him speaks of otherness than human-Arceus. The pendant, his clothing, his eyes, yes… but there are also subtle features about him that ever so slightly sets him apart from ‘Aidan’; the way he looks a few years younger, or how he holds himself with a little less regal if not in confidence, or the way Ash perceives a feeling that he cannot name other than the sense of Earthliness about him… 

_(B… Barty? Nope.)_

Arceus is still connected somehow, though in what way the Legendary Pokémon fits into the missing picture is rather unclear to the Ketchum right now. The pendant still tugs at his instinct, more powerfully each time he revisits the thought on that object though other than the fact of their similarities, Ash is finding himself at a dead end. Something about this man with a ‘B’-whatsit name, a town that one way or another suffered as Alamos did years ago, an old link to the Alpha Pokémon that is almost, but not quite, like the gifts in Damos and Sheena – 

_(Barzum? Near enough… but not that. Bazaar – No, stupid, that means market –)_

Arceus sometimes told him in the days before Marcus’ treachery how it makes a habit of descending to Earth every now and then, Michina and its inhabitants being one it frequently visited. If so, perhaps there are other populations which have seen Arceus’ personal blessing other than those living in Michina Town. If that is true, then this man may have been a people of that settlement with its own separate ways of attaching themselves to the Alpha Pokémon. 

_(– B… Baraz. His name is Baraz.)_

Pikachu is screaming. 

He feels the pinching of paws into his arm’s skin, a powerful hold for the little Pokémon, but the pain is a distant thing – greater and more encompassing is the ache in his skull, throbbing and pulling and tearing his brain to pieces, into disorientation, the pain so great and so terrible that it is beyond belief. 

There is another voice screaming somewhere, more present than Pikachu’s distressed noises and more animal, and very slowly he realizes that his throat is burning from the raw screams that he himself is making, his ears ringing now with the loudness and shrillness of his own voice. Still he cries desperately and painfully to the ceiling above, unable to stop himself or the agony that fills his head like a bloated thing that is confined for too long and seeking now an escape from its prison even if it means cracking open his skull – 

A new pain blooms sharply in his left ribs, and dimly he recognizes that he is no longer on the bed which he has initially settled upon. Somewhere along his blind struggles, he has done so right off the bed and onto the wooden floorboards which creak and groan under his unceasing thrashing and writhing in search of some miraculous escape. His scream does not cease though, nor the pain in his head becoming any less significant. His world takes on a dizzying spin through his squinted eyes; glimpses of his very anxious Pikachu occasionally crosses into the slit of his vision, following after his frenzied turning-about but is otherwise helpless to do anything to help his Trainer. 

His body feels nigh to break – and barely has he thought of this, a cool and absolute darkness suddenly overtakes his senses and sends him into oblivion, his last anchor being Pikachu’s fading cries in his ears. 

  


  
*****

  


For seemingly no rhyme or reason, Arceus’ measured pace falters, just the tiniest bit of out-synching in the rhythmical swing of its legs in gallop but the Original One is not known to be clumsy by others – Arceus itself is bewildered that it is even capable of tripping in the wide emptiness that is a Celestial Bridge, as Dialga’s insistence to call it so has since stuck in the Master’s mind (Palkia’s preferences change with time – A Crossing in this decade, a Wonderbridge in the next – and Arceus has long given up using Palkia’s evolving name). 

_-Great One?!_ The Unown squeaks alarmingly as it flies back to the Alpha Legend, now a few steps left behind after that momentary lag. _-Great One, are you – is there –_

Puzzled and curious, Arceus decides to stop altogether and hover in the darkness while the Unown carefully keeps its silence once it recognizes Arceus’ desire for a space for thoughts. Thrice Arceus checks the environment, sending its senses into a wide circumference for possible disruptions in the Celestial Bridge which may have interfered with its strides, and thrice its inspection comes up with nothing definitive. Celestial Bridges are by nature uneventful and, as Palkia has blatantly put it, a little boring that if there is indeed anything in here, it should not be enough to affect the passing of the Original One. 

_-I am fine, little one,_ Arceus can say this with confidence despite its persisting confusion. Something does indeed transpire though what this may be remains unknown other than Arceus sensing that the fault is not in its grace, which remains as it is as far as the Legend can tell. While it contemplates other possibilities, one of the most obvious ones prompts Arceus to turn to the Unown floating anxiously to its left. 

_-Are we near our destination?_

_-Yes, Great One. This’ll be the last Crossing before it,_ the Unown squeaks, visibly anxious as to why Arceus has any problem at all with its coordination. 

_-Come,_ Arceus simply says, giving no room for the Unown to worry further – and by extension, itself as well. With little else to explain its sudden stumble, Arceus is willing to lay the blame on its approaching the Closed World where the Unown have been massacred. If not that… perhaps this is a case of being a first time for everything. 

And so Arceus opens its portal once it senses a Closed World attached to it without further thought on the matter in favour of focusing itself on the task at hand, ignoring the little doubt it has felt from the fact that while the predator is still mysterious in nature, Arceus itself is not inclined to feel any weakness whatsoever when interacting with the residual tinges of its Aura in the Unown (nor does Arceus suspects that it will ever have any effect on it actually). Meanwhile, the current guide-Unown squeals unhappily as the entrance yawns open before it, trembling at the thoughts of its fallen kin and what still may lie ahead, until Arceus takes the time to soothe it further with a touch of its Aura. 

_-Although,_ Arceus quickly adds when seeing the Unown is still gathering its courage to pass through the portal, _-You may turn back now if you wish. You have aided me greatly in showing me the way._

_-I can do it, Great One,_ the Unown says shakily, though its flying into the portal’s mouth is everything but. 

Arceus follows after it rather hurriedly, worried that the protection it has promised the little creature is not given in due time if the bad comes to worst. Upon emerging on the other side of it, they find themselves hovering in an emptiness of a Closed World that Palkia would have undoubtedly described as ‘deader than dead’, so much so that the Unown appears confused whether it has escaped the last Celestial Bridge or not until it begins to shudder helplessly under the remnant presence of the predator’s debilitating Aura. Arceus swiftly envelops the Unown in a protective cocoon of its own, a soft golden glow that counteracts the tainting Aura’s dark blue-purplish tinge, and the Unown’s trembling ceases if not the fear in its Cyclops-eye. 

_-This is it!_ It exclaims, making frantic loops over Arceus’ head – the Legend honestly cannot tell if this is a product of extreme fear or gladness that it has found exactly what they are searching for, despite its distress and the amount of time which has passed since its flight from the predator. _-It is weaker now but this is it, Great One! I remember it!_

Focusing its senses on the Closed World, Arceus finds traces of the Aura but nothing of its owner no matter where it probes. However, the edge of the Closed World bears slight faults, each one like holes bored into mountainsides by ravenous Aron, where the Aura can be felt most clearly. There is no doubt in Arceus’ mind that this is a scar left behind by the predator’s coming and going – and by the look on the freshest hole, it has gone without intention of coming back. It has left with vengeance – or, on a second thought, with desperation for another source for the easy sustenance which had escaped its grasp. However, the newer holes also hold scarring on their edges as if torn by greater force, speaking of the growing powers of their makers after having feasted on what it could get and Arceus’ dismay mounts the longer it inspects the inflicted damages. The Unown-victims were foundations for greater aims rather than being the predator’s endpoints. 

The predator has not bothered pursuing the Unown only because it has culminated enough for its survival for a while – and perhaps, to hunt better targets. 

_-It’s… It’s not here, isn’t it?_

_-No,_ and the Unown shivers again, not from the prospect of a predator on the loose but because of the dissatisfaction laced through that one word, _-but it will be found again, come Desolate Land or Primordial Sea._

The Unown knows well enough that Arceus does not make idle promises. Really, when it comes down to it, Arceus is equalled in its persistence and ferocity with Giratina when the right instinct is awakened in them. Not wanting to be a hindrance, the Unown chooses silence rather than asking any more questions as Arceus continues its inspection, sweeping its senses again and again around the Closed World. Their stillness as the Unown waits through the Original One’s scrutiny lasts for a while, though exactly how long of it has elapsed is rather ambiguous – the Closed Worlds’ very nature means that time is rather… uncooperative to logical senses. 

Arceus does not care for time either way, not at the moment when it is so focused on what it can discover of the predator. At the very least, its diligence confirms what Arceus has suspected earlier in that the originator of the Aura is a Magical Creature which partly explains its distant recognition to the feeling of it. Said Magical Creature may not have been in personal interaction with Arceus for many years, centuries even, but at least it is no longer of a completely alien nature. As to which Magical Creature it may be, Arceus is rather lost in the many candidates who range from those who still live today to Ancient Creatures who have not managed to withstand the tides of time. Most importantly (and fortunately, in narrowing down the list), it must be one who is possessed with dimension-manipulating ability, whether borne with it or acquired later in life… 

As Arceus leaves its senses open whilst it continues in this line of thought, its consciousness catches on a presence characteristic of its Guardian of Space as if to clue Arceus in on its current question. Who is better than Palkia to provide insights on these matters? 

Being the amorphous presence as it is, Palkia’s existence is easier to detect than Dialga but in return, the former is harder to pinpoint than its Temporal counterpart. Palkia traverses from one dimension to another like a Volbeat flitting in and out of a bush so that its glow is only occasionally visible. That the Spatial Guardian is roaming now indicates that one thing or another must have brought Palkia out from its home dimension and into the vicinity, something that Arceus can take a rather certain guess as to what it may be. Contacting the Spatial Guardian would have been a challenge for beings other than the Creation Legend and its cohorts for its mind is as fluid as water – it flows right through when one tries to surround it – and thus, the mild surprise from Palkia as it feels Arceus entering its mind. However, once recognition is made the friendliness sets it, welcoming and guiding Arceus’ mental to where it is now for Arceus to adjust the opening of its portal accordingly. 

_-Great One…_ The Unown bobs around Arceus’ head like a Spoink bouncing on an invisible floor. Its little voice is not as distressed as before but a new uncertainty can be heard in it, _-Is that… that’s really the Lord of Space, right?_

Immersed in its thoughts, the Unown’s presence has quite slipped out of its mind until it makes itself heard again. Having experienced an encounter with the Unown-killer before, it is understandable that Arceus’ little companion will be nervous to feel another presence in places where few others have any right to be. 

_-That is indeed Palkia,_ Arceus reassures, adding a tad more warmth to its voice and the protective Aura it has sent around the Unown for the little creature’s benefits. 

Yet, there is anger in that little creature, or perhaps more closely a dissatisfaction, a hotness in its own Aura like a smouldering amber beneath a fire-blacken log. Arceus has quite a trouble to decipher why this is so since the feeling is inward rather than directed to the predator. Once, Arceus would have let the Unown keeps the sorrow to itself, reasoning that it is better to let it deal with it on its own, but Arceus’ distant concern has grown… less so, and so the Unown’s humble acceptance of the Aura-imbued assurances does not make quiet Arceus’ natural uneasiness at the Unown’s ordeal as effectively as Arceus thinks it will be. 

…Perhaps this is a blame to lay at Ash’s feet, him and his damnably infective tenderness. The Trainer will not lay to rest until he has tried his utmost best to cheer his distressed Magical Creatures. He will speak and stroke and cuddle them until they are at least eased with his companionship, if not have their problems solved; and the same holds true when Ash himself needs the comforting. 

Arceus may not be as versatile as cuddling – in the Legend’s mind, it is a gesture reserved solely for its mate – but the Unown tugs more and more at its heart. _-You should not blame yourselves for what has happened. Such matters are beyond anyone’s control._

_-…We could do nothing once the prey was chosen. I don’t want to be so useless again,_ it shivers faintly at the recounting but continues on, in a voice that is noticeably but ineffectively hardened against the fearful trembling, _-This is the least I can do on behalf of the rest of us who has survived._

Though surprising to hear the determined (if gloomy) determination from an Unown – normally peaceful creatures who rather hide away and observe from afar whatever which catch their interest – its desperation to act, an obsession almost, is something that the Original One does understand. To have its friends pathetically slaughtered before its very eyes and feel all the horrible defencelessness in the face of a greater foe than all of them combined, this Unown must have felt it all the more strongly: the urgent sense to act, the instinct to protect and preserve what may still be saved, to be of something rather than an inconsequential watcher. 

_-I will not stop you, my little guide. It is your right to stay or leave,_ Arceus says, for to state otherwise will be a lie to its own conscience. Were their roles swapped, Arceus would have despised its position as much as the Unown currently does. 

The Symbol Creature squeaks in gratitude, somehow managing to mimic a bow, and reaffirms its answer by staying resolutely near the Alpha Legend. Its tenacity reminds Arceus of the mate it leaves behind for the moment, how in the face of overwhelming odds and fear, both the Unown and Ash will not even consider turning back. It is strange that Arceus’ thoughts are straying from the mission at hand when it is normally so focused on one thing it has chosen, but perhaps this is to be expected; before Arceus had gathered the courage to make the proposal, ever since Arceus first descended from its Hall with the sole purpose of seeing him even, Ash had quietly but stubbornly made himself a place in Arceus’ awareness, a persistent if minute presence in the many thoughts crossing the Legend’s mind in any instant. By willingly befriending the Legend when asked for his company, Ash has inevitably made himself so much more than just that-human-and-his-Pikachu-who-saved-Arceus-that-one-time. 

However, another duty waits in that moment. Arceus makes itself pushes the thought on the human away regretfully and enters the portal with its attention kept firmly on the connection to Palkia. To have the portal stray away will not be dangerous to Arceus but it will be massively annoying especially with the Spatial Guardian’s natural fluidity. Arceus bids the Unown to stay close – there is no telling for certain the conditions of Palkia’s current location, be it calm and quiet or ripped apart by dimensional fluxes – and the path of the portal stays true to Arceus’ intended destination as they tread its twilit length. 

  


  
*****

  


“I’m fine, Pikachu,” Ash says for the hundredth time – and for just as many times he says these, it falls onto deaf ears again. Pikachu will not give up his fretting just yet regardless of the convictions Ash is giving him and continues the sniffing and touching with his paws for any unusual signs. Finding none of these does little in making his worry any less weighty whatsoever. 

Looking on with concern, a glass of water in one hand and a couple of aspirin tablets in the other, Spring quips in from beside the chair has taken to sit on, “You passed out, Ash. And if Pikachu didn’t call for us, who knew…” 

“Look, I’m really, honestly fine,” Ash replies and spreads his arms out as if to let the girl look at him thoroughly, “It was just a migraine and it’s gone now; that shouldn’t be any reason to worry.” 

From his shoulder, Pikachu makes a noise recognizable as a sceptical snort. 

“Perhaps you should go to clinic…?” 

Ash sighs, shoulders lowering, and shakes his head. “No, but if it’ll make you feel better – that includes _you,_ Pikachu – I’ll take the aspirin.” 

He meekly accepts the water and the medication offered, debating whether he really needs them at all in a few short seconds, then decides to just go with it under Spring’s expectant stare – she looks so worried and anxious that Ash feels bad himself. He swallows both the tablets and the water in one go, pointedly ignoring the sting of too much water going down his throat at once. No point making more fuss than what is already created. 

Spring looks a tad relieved when Ash attempts that hey-look-I’m-totally-fine smile, but Pikachu knows him far too well to be fooled. 

“Well… I should get back to work. I’ll tell the others that you’re awake.” Spring bows and begins to back out of the room, pausing at the doorway to add, “If you need anything, call any one of us. We’ll come as soon as we can.” 

When she disappears behind the closed door and her footsteps fade down the hall, Pikachu bursts out with a frantic episode of pika’s that may as well render him deaf if this continues on for a few more hours. It takes some coaxing but Ash eventually manages to calm the Pokémon down, settling him on his lap and finding that the little paws clutch at the front of his shirt tightly. 

“Pikachu, hey – sorry for worrying you back then. And thanks for calling for help too.” In the absence of Spring, even though he does indeed feel much recovered, Ash cannot turn this event into some light-hearted jab when Pikachu, who has witnessed the entirety of his ordeals, must have recognized that something more than just that flimsy excuse of a migraine has happened. 

From what he has managed to gather, Pikachu, distressed and desperate to aid his Trainer, has left the room in search for help when the maid sisters heard his calls. Seeing the plain tension in Pikachu’s manners, they had rushed off as led by the Pokémon back to his room where they found him knocked out cold on the floorboards. Thankfully, they had found no physical injuries other than the minor bruising on his sides and decided to haul him back on the bed where he stayed unconscious right until the next morning, waking up in time for Spring to make a round on him just now. 

_“Pika-pi?”_

“Yeah, I’m fine now, don’t worry. But…” A particular Legend’s absence suddenly re-occurs to him, now that things concerning his thrashing and fainting have calmed down, “…Arceus didn’t come back yet, did it?” 

Pikachu shakes his head in a solid _No._

There is still the worry which will not go until he is certain of Arceus’ position but now, an invasive curiousity has taken the centre stage in his brain. Though Ash can no longer reliably recalls him in the same manner as he has done before – that photographic memory he has going on for a while must have run out of time while he was passed out – but he does retain the general memory of this almost-Aidan man his brain identifies as Baraz. A dull throbbing warns the danger of prodding into the memories so soon after waking or perhaps a reminder of it being knowledge newly uncovered; either way, it does not deter him from questioning all the puzzles which have been created in its wake, especially the pendant – he does not think that it is coincidental that this Baraz possesses a pendant of similar design to the one owned by the Legendary Pokémon. 

Ash is hoping to ask Arceus itself regarding this mysterious man, an option that is so far unavailable to him with the Legend’s unfortunate absence. However, if he does meet this Baraz sometime in the past, or at least have heard of him in some manner or another, it stands to reason that Pikachu must have known as well unless the Pokémon too is afflicted with the same forgetfulness as he is. 

Well, only one way to find out about that. 

“Hey, Pikachu, listen –” 

Because it will not do to leave his best friend out of the loop, Ash launches straightaway into the story of how he came to end up with the strange illness. As he slowly reveals to the Pokémon of his gradual remembrance of Baraz starting from Arceus’ resemblance to him in human disguise (or is it the other way round? Ash cannot tell), Pikachu pipes up enthusiastically, his eyes triumphant in recognition of the name Ash has just spilled out. 

_“Pika-pi! Pika-pika!”_

“You knew him?” 

Ash has not brought with him his travel bag-pack as he is usual wont to, considering the unusual and abrupt nature of his leaving that allows him no such opportunity to grab it before Dialga proceeds to start their journey to the Hall of Origin. He does, however, has on hand his Holocaster tucked in his jeans’ pocket then because he almost never leaves home without it, having come straight from Pallet Town; the device remains there ever since, and Pikachu is now reaching a paw into his pocket and retrieves said device. Save for ignorable scratches, the Holocaster has survived his pained thrashing; indeed, that device has survived longer and has been through more shenanigans than Ash’s other communication gadgets. 

Right now, Ash watches curiously as Pikachu lays the Holocaster down on the bed and pushes the various buttons on it until a virtual screen bursts to life above it, showing a regional map with a blinking red sign spelling Kalos on the top border. A few moments of scanning and the Pikachu gives another triumphant chirp, pointing a short digit at a vast yellow space that must have been a desert, broken occasionally by blue splashes which Ash comes to realize indicating locations holding significant water sources: Oases, lakes, even a gulf, appearing on it as a large blue splotch half-enclosed by the yellow borders of the desert with only a tiny mouth leading to the bigger blue of the ocean… 

Pikachu’s stubby claw lands right on a pulsing yellow dot at the bank of this gulf. 

“…‘Dahara City’,” Ash reads the tag attached to the yellow point. It must have been a considerable place for the name is labelled in huge lettering and bearing a map-legend of a settlement the scale of a metropolis. “Is this where we met Baraz? Dahara City?” 

An affirmative bark comes from Pikachu. Then, seeing the confused frown contorting the Trainer’s face, a more questioning chirp follows. 

Ash does not comprehend word-to-noise what is said but he and Pikachu has long since reached the point of closeness where instinctive understanding comes naturally to the Trainer. “No, I don’t remember him for some reason. Dahara City too… I mean, I remember being there with Bonnie and Clemont and Serena – ” 

Here, his memory fails yet again with a head-splitting headache that comes as soon as he tries to dig deeper. There is Dahara City somewhere in the list of places he has gone to, but that is as far as his knowledge goes. Pikachu makes his distressed noises again as his face morphs from hard concentration to something much more alarming, not that he needs any more discouragement after that harrowing experience. Ash makes it a point to not try to push it further so soon after he has more or less recovered. 

To Ash’s not-so-surprise, the searing pain in his head fades almost immediately to the mere dull throbbing he has felt upon waking. Trying to stifle his wounded sounds, Pikachu’s barks become pitiful whimpers instead, making it all the worse for the Ketchum to hear. 

“…Yeah, I think I’m done for today.” 

  
  


That is what he says and what he believes in, though of course things rarely go the way one intends, especially if said person is Ash Ketchum, who would have less than half the adventures he has been unwittingly thrust into all his life. 

  
  


Eating has been one the activities proven interesting enough to the Ketchum to take his mind off whatever subjects which currently occupying his mind – that and a heated Pokémon battle, which is of course an unacceptable choice as of now. It is late morning when he eventually gives up the solitude of the bedroom (He really should have learnt by now – being alone only makes his mind works faster), the sun a round blazing coin nearly reaching its highest point in the sky. He needs something distractive to, well, distract him from his current train of thought and the warning burden that pushes the inside of his skull with a steady pressure, lingering as his thought has on this Dahara City, tantalizingly and alarmingly close to be brought up to his immediate consciousness. 

It is time neither for breakfast or lunch proper but customers have begun to crowd the hall when Ash makes his appearance there, to the nervousness of the sisters. Spring is especially worried but consoles herself with Pikachu’s faith in his Trainer. She leads them to an empty table by the window and takes their orders _(“The porridge set please, and lots and lots of Pokéblocks for Pikachu,”_ he chooses after a short glance at the offered menu), leaving Ash to look around for the reappearance of Hal the Ruin Maniac and his tales of adventure. He finds said man easily by the sound of his boisterous story-telling only just about to tell the mishaps he once had down an abandoned mine or something in Unova, though his tale now becomes less interesting simply by the virtue of the newest customers walking through the café’s door: An elderly man and a woman. 

He may be elderly at the first glance with his slow gait and grizzled hair, but a second look reveals that this man is not frail whatsoever despite his age. No one will call the Pokémon Professor Rowan frail by any stretch of imagination, not with the way he carries himself with all the bearing of a man who owns the place and the Braviary-sharp eyes with which he peers into the world. Likewise, the woman who accompanies him is no less imposing because of her younger age; even if her reputation is somehow unknown to a hypothetical watcher, he will be struck by the confidence she exudes and wears with as much ease as the black coat she has on her. Her long blonde hair flows after her, each step sending the voluminous tresses bouncing, as Cynthia makes her way after Professor Rowan, both of them unperturbed by the stares of the existing customers. 

Because people are just funny that way, especially hungry ones who are waiting impatiently for the arrival of their much-awaited lunch while their bellies already sing their songs, the crowds soon lost their interests in the unusual pair after just a few rounds of muttering and staring when it is clear that nothing exceptional is about to go down. 

Ash, however, has not lost his interest. The hand he raises in their direction is quickly noticed by Cynthia who is busily watching out for empty seats, and so leads the Professor to the ones remaining at Ash’s table before either of the maid sisters can attend to them. 

“I’ll say I’m surprised to see you, but really, you’ve always had an uncanny timing to show up,” she says as she shakes hands with Ash, “Oh – and hello.” 

“Ash Ketchum, isn’t it?” Professor Rowan says before Ash can let a word out, reminding him very much of Prof. Carolina as he takes the older man’s hand in his, veins showing on his fingers from passing time and toils. Nevertheless, Ash wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if Prof. Rowan is entirely capable of brawling a man half his age with ease if the grip is of any indication. The Professor nods, seemingly satisfied with what he is seeing though Ash has no idea what this may be, and adds, “You’ve certainly grown. It’s been a long time.” 

Ash has met Prof. Rowan over the course of time since the Mount Coronet incident, but yes, it has already been a few years since they saw the other in the flesh. In all honesty, Ash’s regular businesses with Pokémon Professors have only been with Prof. Oak and, less frequently, Prof. Birch on the ground of their recurrent collaborations with each other. Being quite a traveller himself from what Ash has heard, it is no wonder that Prof. Rowan makes for Ash’s least regular acquaintance. Ash waives the passing Summer over to take the extra orders while Prof. Rowan shrugs off his travelling coat and drapes it over the back of his chair, refusing Summer’s offer to do so for him. 

Cynthia does the ordering for the both of them. Prof. Rowan, having finally taken his seat and making no comment on Cynthia’s brunch choice for him, says instead, _“Really._ You should’ve thought better of bringing me here.” 

“This isn’t like the big city’s maid cafés,” Cynthia replies, unrepentantly amused, “All sorts of people come here. And it’s a good place for a breakfast – or lunch, depending on your views. Actually, it’s got great dinner too.” 

Which is a great point in Ash’s opinion. Prof. Rowan doesn’t seem too convinced with her argument but offers none of his own, only a resigned grunt. His attention is instead divested in a handful of paper sheets he has extracted from the file which he has been carrying in his brown leather briefcase; what Ash manages to glimpse from it makes not much sense to him although Cynthia, taking notice where his eyes land, offers helpfully, “We’re on our way to Celestic Town. Prof. Rowan has something to cross-check in the research centre’s archives.” 

“Did something happen?” 

“For the non-scientific community, nothing,” Prof. Rowan interrupts gruffly. He almost always sounds gruff though Ash has learnt to distinguish angry-gruff and neutral ones. “We wouldn’t have known it either if not for our instrument.” 

Ash has a split-second insight of what this may be, remembering his past conversation with Cynthia back in the Lilypad hospital when Tonio was still held there. “That transmission tower project?” 

A bushy eyebrow lifts up on the Professor’s face, his aquiline eyes leaving the papers to focus on Ash. “Well, there you go. I suppose Cynthia have filled you up on that.” 

“Not much,” Ash admits. Then, afraid that these are the kinds of beans best left unspilled in public, he resumes quickly, “Sorry, professor. I won’t talk –” 

“Nothing to be sorry for, lad.” Prof. Rowan place the papers on the table, in plain view should anyone care to actually look although everyone else beside them are more interested in their lunch or Hal’s stories _(“She’s thirty feet long, I tell you!”,_ which, if Ash is not mistaken, is referring to a guardian Milotic that was supposedly worshipped by an ancient civilization – or something). 

“It’s just not something the Pokémon professors talk about outside of their labs –” 

“– on the grounds that they’re experimental at best, with results so far proving to be ambiguous and not enough concrete information to be published in journals,” Prof. Rowan finishes for Cynthia. 

“Bound to be, if you’re researching Legendary Pokémon.” Ash has to refrain from making a knowing smile, remembering Arceus’ statements to him how Legends are solitary creatures that more often than not go out of their ways to remain as their titles imply; to remain only in legends. Arceus has repeated these arguments over and over whenever Ash complained of the remoteness of Arceus’ chosen location whenever it decided to come visiting, which happens to be a glade in the middle of a forest that requires quite a lot of walking. 

“True enough. Still, better make the jump than sitting like a Ducklett.” 

“There are a few among us who think we’re wasting time and money on Legendary Pokémon researches,” Cynthia helpfully elaborates at the foggy look Ash has on his face and the rather abrupt sharpness the professor’s tone has acquired. She herself looks about as annoyed as the Pokémon professor. 

“But – they've got to know Legendary Pokémon exists…?” Having bonded himself to one particularly mythical Pokémon, Ash too has his share of feeling scandalized by the sceptics, the distaste which he is now struggling with to keep his voice neutral. 

“They know, of course. They just thought that the resources are better spent elsewhere.” 

“Like I said, studies on Legendary Pokémon are difficult for various reasons,” Prof. Rowan says, sounding less sharp and more wistful this time. “My main work is on Pokémon evolution. Augustine in Kalos – Prof. Sycamore to you – works on Mega Evolution. Technically, Cynthia here is one of the few who actually gather information on them and she’s not a researcher by career.” 

“Which gives me a bit of flexibility in the subject. Folklores are the easiest means to know about something which doesn’t want to be found. You can be sure many scientists will scoff if I call myself one.” 

Prof. Rowan’s mouth moves to what seems like a muttered _“Blithering idiots,”_ though the luxuriant moustache makes it hard to say for certain. “These people don’t understand,” he says, this time with clear intention to be heard, “We don’t study Legendary Pokémon because we want to catch them or use them – and that’s where the problem comes in. They see no reason why we study about subjects that don’t directly concern them. When they see a Pokémon’s Thunderbolt, they only care about how the energy can be used and how to generate more to their benefits – but they’ve forgotten to admire the sheer fact of a living, breathing creature somehow unleashing 10 000 volts of electricity. But it’s not only about the results’ practical application. It’s about understanding. It’s about learning. There’s something to be had in the quest itself and not just the end.” 

To hear that much coming from the Pokémon Professor – who is generally curt and straight to the point – in that short span of time is honestly a little frightening despite the fact that his volume does not change all that drastically throughout the tirade. 

“It used to be worse. Now, it’s mostly talks in the backstage, so to speak,” Cynthia slips in smoothly, a gentleness to contrast the professor’s disgruntled and surprisingly extended rant. “Anyway, interests in Legendary Pokémon spike right through the roof after that show they put on at Dahara City, and that’s certainly helping our cause.” 

Ash’s surprise spikes through the roof as well. Though he has neither food nor drink in his mouth to spit out that does not stop him from doing it anyway. The result is a bit like a cough, a little like a sneeze and all the way uncomfortable. 

“Ash?” 

“You said something about Dahara City?” He tries to sound like someone who has been told the introduction of a story that promises to get better soon enough. He wants to sound mildly interested, neither entirely bored nor fanatically hooked, though his heart hammers away the inside of his rib-cage and his head swims with half-formed thoughts. 

He tries to push away the seductive call to delve into these thoughts, never latching long enough for him to look into thoroughly unless he gives in – a silhouette of a proud, tall, ancient tower flashes before his eyes, standing illuminated by a harsh, fiery sun, and then it is gone. Pikachu notices this brief reverie, nudges his elbow as a discreet inquiry of his well-being, and is answered with similarly brief smile. 

“There was a major ruckus made about it ten years ago – give or take a year,” Prof. Rowan is saying and Ash’s attention is wholly and completely ensnared. “There were sightings of multiple Legendary Pokémon over Dahara City and it’s not just a few eyewitnesses. Hundreds of them, in fact.” 

“Let’s see… there’s Kyogre, Groudon, Kyurem –” 

“Rayquaza, possibly Mega-Evolved by the descriptions given –” 

“Latios and Latias too –” 

“Hard evidences are scarce though. People were hard-pressed to take pictures or videos while they were running for their lives,” Prof. Rowan says to the wide-eyed expression on the Ketchum’s face and effectively deflates the swell of excitement in his chest, “And what did get taken are… not the best of qualities.” 

_“What happened?”_ There is no restrain on his interest this time. Ash sounds exactly like a child given a cliffhanger ending to a story he has faithfully followed. 

As best as they can, being that they were not present there when the accident transpired and relying rather on eyewitnesses’ accounts or what meagre collection of tapes and images they have gotten their hands on, Cynthia and Prof. Rowan begin to unravel a story that seems to come straight from the wildest of imaginations. It started, as far as anyone could tell, at Dahara Tower, a relic of a building not far from the city itself, with the appearance of a Pokémon only mentioned in Dahara’s local myth – a six-armed behemoth with incredible powers and is said to have the ability to grant its master’s wishes – and it… kind of snow-balled from there. Legendary Pokémon after Legendary Pokémon began to appear through holes that appeared suddenly in the night sky – 

(Another flash of memory for Ash here: Glowing golden rings spitting out indistinct shapes, one long, huge and serpentine while the other two, smaller and stockier than the first, are similar to each other in their outlines.) 

There were clashes through that night, battles that rage as if it was the end of the world while the Legendary Pokémon contested their strengths. For some unknown reasons, a number of these Legendary Pokémon seemed determined to keep their battles away from humans and settled areas, to various degrees of success, and just as mysteriously they had begun, they stopped fighting by sunrise. Unfortunately, there were still casualties and destructions, as to be expected when such primal forces were engaged in battles. The worst brunt of it fell upon Dahara Tower itself which was reduced to its foundations and scattered bricks. 

“They said that a freak storm had swallowed the tower during the fight – and the people, trapped in the crumbling tower, were… _transported_ to safety by this Kalos Legendary Pokémon.” Prof. Rowan continues on by adding that Dahara Tower has since been rebuilt and restored to as close to its former appearance as possible, the efforts which were greatly aided by said six-armed, wish-granting Kalos Legendary Pokémon. 

“Sadly, this Legendary Pokémon vanishes from public sighting ever since and it seems that nobody knows where it can be found.” 

A name flits into Ash’s mind and stays there. “…Hoopa,” he mutters, reflexively rather than deliberately, and in saying it aloud seems to bring to mind a face of grinning mouth and mischievous green eyes – or is it red, with a snarling mouth filled with too-sharp teeth? 

Ash cannot tell for sure; his brain is indecisive and, too late, the face fades away, leaving in its place a series of mild pulsing in his head, threatening with promises of worse pain to come should he persist. 

“…Yes,” Prof. Rowan replies, his gruff voice a mixture of wonder and curiousity, “According to local old scripts, the Legendary Pokémon is indeed referred to as Hoopa.” 

Ash remembers too little things to his liking but he knows this too, with such an utter and complete certainty as a human will ever be: that he _was_ there as well, a piece in the game of chess with his own parts to play, though what roles he had taken on the board remain lost in a hidden corner of his mind.


	20. The calm Before The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a danger lurking, and it waits until the perfect moment to strike...

As things go, the Giratina-made doorway leads Dawn, Newton and their out-of-the-ball Pokémon to near the peak of Mount Coronet, which makes for a long descent down to the base-level Celestic Town where the Research Centre is. On the upside, it is far better than, say, if they end up on Twinleaf Town or, worse yet, on a different region altogether, which is occasionally where Newton has found himself when crossing a naturally formed portal in the past. Dawn is grateful for the privilege of course, though a puzzled curiousity is awakened in her in remembering a statement – said by whom, she cannot pinpoint for certain – that Mount Coronet’s anomalies such as its magnetic ambience can mostly be traced back to the especially thin barriers between the dimensions of the mountain, which in turn makes portal-forming much less energy-consuming. 

However, having seen the black hole above the mountain following Cyrus’ derailed plan, hovering above them with all the ominousness of a hungry beast wanting to swallow its prey, only that its prey has been Earth and all its inhabitants, Dawn is instinctively worried that Giratina has sent them here in spite of all the troubles with dimensional instability as caused by the Intruder (or Intruders – she has heard him uses both the singular and plural forms interchangeably). In her mind, one would logically avoid any disturbance to a place already sensitive to tempering. Of course, as curious as she is, she knows better than to try arguing against Giratina’s choice and so carefully tries to avoid sounding confrontational when she asks this of Newton. 

“Well,” Newton pauses to scratch his head distractedly – he does not seem confused as to why but finds difficulties to put his understanding into words, “it _will_ be disastrous if we humans try something like that with our technologies – but Giratina, being Giratina, knows how to manipulate _juuust_ a little bit of the place to open us a way back home without destroying the world. You remember that dimensional bomb dropped into Lake Valor? It’s like bashing a wall open with hammer versus power-drilling just a little tiny hole.” 

The comparisons work well enough to give her an understanding without having Newton launching himself into an essay-worthy explanation that can fill a page or two if someone cares to write it down. Newton is all too liable to techno-lingo that only those versed in his areas of science will have inkling what he is talking about. _They_ can try to delve in the intelligent madness that is quantum physics or whatever the study of multiple dimensions is actually called, but Dawn is not going to give herself an extra headache in thinking about stuffs she has no right to poke her nose into. 

As such, Newton, Dawn, Empoleon and Shieldon proceed to make their way down the mountain without any more inquiries concerning the chosen location of their benefactor. On the other hand, Newton regretfully informs then that his hover-scooter is currently out of commission after one accident too many in the Reverse World, and so they are forced to proceed on foot. Dawn does not find this a problem at all, as is her Empoleon, whose life as a Coordinator has kept her active and sufficiently exercised for more than just a walking trek down the mountain. The reassurance relieves Newton and he continues on by telling her how he and Giratina become allied in this quest for the mysterious Intruder. Perhaps it is a side-effect of prolonged solitude in the Mirror World, she notices that Newton is always eager to talk and is visibly glad when engaged in conversations, or even simply having someone to listen. Sure, he has chosen this life for himself but the occasional human companionship is not something he will reject. 

That said, life as a Reverse World-wanderer must have similarly ensures his fitness – despite being older, he looks none the less for wear than Dawn. Though the existence of the crude vehicle tracks makes the goings far easier than having to pick their way down through the cliffsides and jutting rocks, Mount Coronet still makes for a long descent that would have left most people out of breaths. They see no one on their way down though occasionally, the rectangular building that is the Historical Research Centre is just visible down below in their passing, and their steps will become a little more spirited as they go. 

“So, Dawn,” Newton suddenly breaks the monotony of feet-trodding and gasped breaths, “now that you’re a little way off Lake Verity, you have any plan other than going back?” 

It has almost completely escapes her mind that her presence is accidental at best, that being sucked into the Reverse World is something she has not planned when she has gone to relax by the lake, and only by the sheerest of luck that she has not fallen into Giratina’s crushing maw and instead is sent safely back to Earth. 

“I don’t know. Find out if there are Contests I can get in, I suppose?” Contests are what she is comfortable with, a reliable standby, something that she often reverts to when nothing else will make her stay. As she says this, Newton has an expression on his face as if he is confused, though not exactly – there is also a hint of nostalgia in the small quirk of his equally subtle smile. 

“I was never that good at Pokémon Training, to tell you the truth. I’ve dabbled here and there, of course, but –,” he shrugs, a careless gesture that accentuates the points of his shoulders and brings home the fact of his leanness, “ – I guess it’s just not my _forte.”_

“You’ve ever challenged the Gyms?” There are certainly some skills in both him and the Shieldon. Though he may not look much like it now, someone with a Pokémon will hardly pass a chance to battle Gym Leaders if only for the sake of testing one’s abilities, especially if the Pokémon possesses the skill to pull off _Flash Cannon,_ of all Attack moves. 

“I did, long ago; won only five of them but then I got busy with my researches. Then I discovered the Reverse World and the rest is history.” 

In what ways winning five Gym Badges can be considered incompetent escapes her. There are people out there – Pokémon owners dedicating much of their time to Training and battling – who struggle for months, years even, to acquire half as much Gym Badge. Dawn does not undermine the scientist at all whatever his battling competency may be but having heard the quoted number makes her respect for the unassuming man rises by another notch. 

Oblivious himself to Dawn’s silent surprise, Newton continues on as normal though his speech is occasionally punctuated by brief respite to breathe as the descent’s exertion become more apparent, “Anyway, I’ve laid off serious Training for some time. When Giratina came and pulled me along into the hunts, I was doubting myself if I could do anything if I happened to be in danger.” 

Dawn is spared from countering this sentiment because the Shieldon has beaten her to it. Encouraging chirps and yaps, unbelievably adorable considering that they come from a creature who will eventually become a Pokémon who is equal parts a tank and a dinosaur. Newton’s smile says that Shieldon’s efforts are working and a bony hand reaches down to pat the armoured head. With a satisfied bark, the Pokémon is off once again, ahead of them but never too far away. Dawn successfully coaxes her Empoleon back into his Pokéball as the ground becomes exhaustive to tackle for the Penguin Pokémon, leaving only her, Newton and Shieldon to press onward until the houses at the edge of Celestic Town come into view, framed by the jagged rock cliffs that extend from Mount Coronet’s base. The research centre itself is located at the northern edge of the town, built in front of the Celestic Ruins that have been the original purpose of the research centre’s existence but whose fields of involvement have since expanded. 

Coming into the town, Newton takes the lead from his Shieldon – the Pokémon now trails after the scientist’s footsteps, careful to keep their distance small without accidentally tripping Newton. In spite of his extended disappearance, Newton must have been well recognized by the townspeople because he is either ignored (completely normal since these people are in the midst of catching Pokémon or is training one) or drawing attentions because of his rather shabby clothing – more so than most travellers who have braved the difficult terrains of Mount Coronet – and is consequently greeted when he has been identified. 

However, the research centre itself comes off as hibernating, if a place is capable of it as much as some of the Pokémon and animals (and humans, occasionally). Celestic Town’s Research Centre has never been a hectic place like the bigger research institutes in the major cities so the relative quietness is a given, especially since their major activities are on the fields rather than indoors considering their specialties. Indeed, indoors are exactly where they find a small number of scientists manning a few computer terminals in the main space of the research centre, each of them engrossed in their own works until Newton’s passing attracts one lab-coat-clad woman just emerging from a door to the side; obviously they are in acquaintance of each other at the very least for she stops upon recognizing Newton to shake his hand and offers a quick “Hi,” to the Shieldon. 

“Carolina?” She repeats when Newton mentions the name to her, lips pursing in fleeting thoughts on the matter, “She hasn’t been doing too well these few days. Weeks, actually. I’m not sure if she checked in for work today – but you can try her office. If she did, that’s where she’ll be.” 

“She’s been sick?” 

“Not real sickness. It’s just –” She hesitates, clearly realizing too late that what she has in mind is not the kindest of way to spell it, and finishes awkwardly, “ – maybe it’s the works and she’s just… um, _overwhelmed_ by them all. Headaches and fatigues, fainting spells…” 

“How odd…” But Newton refuses clarification on that comment even with her arched eyebrow being directed his way; instead, he thanks the woman scientist as they take leave of each other. 

Somehow feeling that their true intention as some sort of a secret – although why this is so does not occur to her – Dawn waits until she is sure that they are out of earshot to say, “You think we’ll be disturbing her barging in like this?” 

“I don’t think so. We’ve come too far to just go back just because she – ” Newton discreetly purses his mouth in the direction the woman had gone off, “ – said so. Anyway, Carolina can kick us out herself if she wants to be left alone.” 

Dawn is tempted to point out that this is hardly the best consolation to give. While Prof. Carolina is far from being unkind, there is still a sternness about her that unsettles casualness out of her audience. This should not have bothered Dawn much, it really shouldn’t with Dawn’s numerous involvements in Contest events, many of them being prestigious and formal, yet she still finds herself hesitating as if she is about to be interviewed by a high-profiled personality; then, the apprehension is gone on her third exhalations as she harnessed about her calmness as she usually does before performing. Dawn’s trust in the man’s decision once again wins her obedience to follow after Newton’s footsteps which are now heading straight for a seemingly simple-looking wooden door if not for the plaque stamped with the name of their interest. 

A muffled inquiry of their identities answers to Newton’s rapping on said doorframe; the speaker inside, undoubtedly Prof. Carolina regardless of the closed door distorting the misleadingly hard-edged tone that is her normal speaking voice, grants the permission easily once Newton declares themselves. She regards her guests with eyes that speak of puzzled interest (like a taxidermist may examine his newly-acquired specimen to determine if the poor thing really does not breathe anymore – and Dawn scolds herself for making the unnecessarily creepy comparisons). 

“Hello, Carolina. Hope we aren’t being a nuisance.” Newton waltz right in, not sharing Dawn’s tentativeness as to the state of their presences. 

“I _am_ expecting someone, you know,” she stands up from her chair and rushes forward to receive Newton’s handshake, “but they’re not you. Not to say that you’re unwelcomed though.” 

“I heard that you’ve been sick?” 

“Stuffs and nonsense.” She stares at Newton and Dawn alternately as if to give both of them a chance to make certain that she is not so. “A little headache and colds here and there are perfectly acceptable.” 

“Good – because we need some help with something.” 

“You’re being awfully vague today, you know that?” 

“That's to be expected when it comes to the Reverse World.” 

The mere mention of the Earth’s mysterious twin-realm instantaneously garners a cautious inquisitiveness from the Pokémon Professor. There is an intense look in the way she re-regards both Newton and Dawn, an expression that reminds Dawn of someone hearing the knocks on the front door when one has the whole day planned to be a time for self-indulgence and not expecting a visitor of any kind. 

“Of course, but you’re going to have to paint a clearer picture if you want me to help.” Gesturing for them to take a seat, the professor herself sinks into her own chair at the opposite side of the desk. 

Most of the talking is handled by Newton with Dawn only providing her part of the snippets to reaffirm what has been told. For some indiscernible reason however, Newton refrains from making mentions of deliberate cooperation with Giratina – that parts are modified as he narrates the experience so that a listener perceives instead that his presence is merely coincidental to the fight which have transpired between the Legendary Pokémon and the Intruders (of which term Newton also avoids using; instead calling it an anomalous presence or something). Dawn deduces that perhaps, as a scientist, Newton has to avoid bias in his observations and decide to leave out the part where he absolutely, unquestionably sides with Giratina. As a result, the incident is told to Prof. Carolina in a manner of an unsuspecting passer-by stumbling upon the fray with Dawn thrown into the mix as a result of the instability the fight had created. 

Prof. Carolina listens intently through the narration, questioning rarely and reacting a little more surprised when it comes to the part of Dawn’s accidental appearance in the Reverse World. 

“You said you were at Lake Verity when the portal appeared?” Her eyes fix themselves on Dawn; again, that feeling of a taxidermist-and-her-specimen returns to Dawn, though thankfully just as brief as the first time. 

“Yes.” 

“How… _fascinating._ Lake Verity, home of the Lake Guardian Mesprit…” Her fingers drum the surface of the desk in rhythm with her thoughts like the mechanical grinding of gears of a machine brought to life. Her eyes shine with an inspiration newly occurred. What these thoughts are though, they are not shared with Newton and Dawn, as Prof. Carolina comments instead, “You… you were bonded to a Legendary Pokémon once, weren’t you? To Mesprit?” 

The way she phrases the question is somewhat strange to Dawn. Though she was not present then, accounts from herself, Ash, Brock and a few others, including Cynthia who were indeed there during the culmination of Cyrus’ plan, has been retold and confirmed to her many times over as to make it the next best thing. The inquiry just now, however, has a touch of cluelessness to it that should not have been there. 

Perhaps Prof. Carolina is indeed not as fully recovered as she wants them to believe… 

Pointing this out will be the opposite of sensible though, and so Dawn chooses to answer her instead. 

“Well then,” Prof. Carolina is greatly delighted that this is indeed so, almost as if this bit is a surprise to her (again, maybe she is not remembering things as well as she should, given her hinted sickness), “Is the bond still there? Can you still… _feel_ it, right now?” 

“I don’t think so. I mean, I’ve never felt the way it has been when Mesprit connected with me ever since –” Dawn tries to recall the sensations of it, the warmth and comfort inherent to the Lake Guardian despite the waves of panic and urgency that predominates its mind then, and finds that the experience is no less clear compared to the previous reminiscences, “ – and the bond itself too; I don’t know if it sticks afterwards or it’s just a one-time thing.” 

“All the same… to be touched by a Legend is an occasion on itself. Not many humans have had the privilege, even more go about their lives without ever seeing one until they die… ” The drumbeats of her fingers increase in tempo, a fast but steady _tap-tap-tap_ of nails against wood, her thoughts racing ever wilder in her head. “When Legends interact with other creatures, there is a small… residue, if you will, of themselves left on the interacted, intentionally or otherwise. Coming from Mesprit, one of the Spirit Legends itself, it must be very… _exquisite.”_

No longer a specimen examined by its taxidermist, it now reminds her of the way a Liepard’s eyes gleam lantern-like in the darkness when lights are beamed upon them, pale and cold like distant stars – this is how it feels like to her when she meets the professor’s calculative gaze – and no, it is not exactly comfortable to be gazed at like that. It is nothing like Giratina’s stare – that goes into its own category – but Prof. Carolina is like one of the perfectionist judges who are the source of anxiety and knee-weakening for all Contestants involved, unceasingly analytical of whoever or whatever that is before them. 

Thankfully, the Pokémon Professor’s attention on her is momentary. 

“…And Giratina?” She directs this to Newton this time, her eyes clouded with a different kind of interest – almost a worry. “Were you bonded to Giratina too, Newton?” 

“Nope. Giratina’s the lone ranger type.” If this question seems peculiar to Newton as Dawn herself thinks it so, the scientist has a remarkable self-composure in not showing any of it. “I can’t imagine it’ll want to link for any reason. You’ll be hard-pressed to even get close to it – safely.” 

Which is kind of a lie, considering that Newton is still walking around with his face intact after she has seen him holding conversations with the Renegade Legend with its mouth literally in front of him. To people not in the know in the manners of their dealings though, the statement is entirely plausible and is thus accepted by the Pokémon Professor without a sign of scepticism. 

“True, true… Giratina might not be worth the trouble…” 

It is a strange and curious monologue which Dawn is tempted to ask further though a discreet glance exchanged with Newton only gives her a shrug and a shake of his head, cautioning her against the very impulse she is feeling. Not that Newton seems any less curious on the subject though – there is wisdom in silence and, for now, Newton is far more pressed to access those transreceiver towers and do his part in his collaboration with Giratina. 

Thankfully, Newton does not need to do anything; Prof. Carolina herself brings them right back on track, asking, “How do you want me to help? This news you bring… it’s very, very intriguing. We’ll have to look into this.” 

“Your transreceiver towers – they’re supposed to detect abnormal energy signatures, aren’t they? I’ll need access to them; maybe all the data gathered so far too.” 

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” she replies, not even thinking before giving the man what he has come for. “When do you plan on using them?” 

“As soon as possible.” A thoughtful pause, then, “Right now, if that can be done.” 

“It can.” Prof. Carolina rises from her seat, her white coat flowing, and Dawn stiffens in anticipation of some unknown manners transgressed; but Newton himself is leaving his chair, standing rigid like a soldier to attention and the woman his commanding officer. 

She motions towards the door – not a dismissal as Dawn initially assumes but in invitation. “However, I hope you’ll spare me a few minutes of your time and follow me. I have something back there that I hope you may be able to decipher for me.” 

“’Back there’?” 

“It’s in the ruins behind this institute,” she clarifies. “A radiation of some sort, perhaps a form of negative energy. You are quite versed in these matters, after all.” In Newton’s mind, perhaps there are other scientists and researchers tackling Prof. Carolina’s problem right now and Newton, newly arrived from the Reverse World, is the latest recruit in these scattered crews – it is Prof. Carolina’s usual arrangements with groups here and there solving their chosen (or given) conundrum in their own terms, while yet retaining a degree of cooperation and networking among each other. 

So, Newton says yes easily enough, intending to work on it alongside his own puzzles of Giratina’s Intruders – or, if it proves too complicated, to be stored and re-examined later – and hurries after Prof. Carolina with Dawn in tow, through the exit at the back of the building which opens to ruins of Celestic Town. 

  


*****

  


When Arceus glides out into the new Closed World, a sullen blackness meets its arrival though the waiting Guardian who welcomes its arrival is much livelier than the place itself. Until Arceus’ arrival, Palkia is the sole source of light in the world which seems to have as much cheer as a graveyard, if even that. Though the wings are outspread as if in hover, the action accounts for very little compared to the special tricks of the will in keeping the Spatial Legend aloft in the world where conventional logics go straight out of the windows. 

The usual greetings exchanged, Palkia ventures forth with its nagging curiousity which has been there ever since Palkia was contacted by its Master, _-You are quite a long way from Earth, Arceus._

It is an innocent inquiry by all means. However, Arceus finds itself working to quell the tiny voice which speaks of worry into its conscience. This investigation has brought Arceus further from the Earthly Realm and cost it much more time than it has been comfortable to trade off with Ash being left without prior notice (Arceus curses itself particularly strongly on this point, being an oversight which could have been _easily_ remedied if Arceus had cared to think more thoroughly before leaving) while on the other hand, it seems counterproductive to return all the way for such trivial negligence. These two opposites war insistently and as such makes for rather aggravating conflictions. 

_-And you are here as well,_ Arceus says instead, having worked as best as it can to soothe its restlessness, _-I am reluctant to claim it a coincidence that we end up so close to each other._

Almost inconspicuous in the brighter glow of the Original One, the Unown timidly presents itself to a surprised Palkia at Arceus’ beckoning. Eventhough its kind is far from uncommon and not exactly strangers to the many hidden realities beyond Earth, they usually go to a lot of troubles to keep themselves well-hidden even to Arceus’ Guardians. Arceus succinctly summarizes the whole sequences of events that have led it to Palkia’s vicinity, having answered the ill Unown’s distant plea back in the Solaceon ruins and taken upon itself to hunt down the creature responsible for the deed. 

After a few brief moments spent to digesting the synopsized account, Palkia nods understandingly. _-Well then. Come, perhaps this may be of your interest –_

With a quick flexing of its wings, Palkia veers down and way to the side in smooth and effortless movements as if it is swimming through water. Arceus follows suit, mindful so as not to stumble ever again, until the shadowy darkness at the bottom lifts up to reveal a foggy, barren ground reminiscent of Earth’s landscape. It had been an aspect of Earth once, this barren world; it feels too close to the Earthly Realm for it to be anything but. 

That in itself is not of particular interest but rather the feel of the place: raggedy and… sort of tattered as if a cloth worn too roughly and too many times. By Closed World’s standard, this one is formed out of less-than-preferable circumstances for its fabric is crinkled with hasty touches of someone’s Aura – or Auras, it is difficult to tell with the damages it has already sustained. Concentrating harder, Arceus is surprised to find that the sensation is reminiscent of Palkia, albeit much less controlled and… _distressed?_

No, not just Palkia either – there are traces of Dialga’s Aura scattered about the world as well, the Legend’s power constructed in such a way that time in this place is frozen dead in its track rather than coming to its own gradual stop as its connection to Earth fades. On closer observation, Dialga’s and Palkia’s powers are interwoven together into the very reality of the place in manners which are not altogether healthy if one expects it to be a support of some sort to the Earthly Realm, one of the most frequent reasons of keeping a seemingly insignificant bubble of reality intact. They crisscross and intersect, irrevocably intertwined until the world-space itself is constricted: a small, isolated place pinched shut from the rest of the universe… 

_-Why? What reasons do you have to contain it so?_ As it asks, Arceus sends its senses abroad to probe and peek into its dark crannies to try to understand the situations. Palkia begins to answer only to refrain itself, sensing that Arceus’ mind is wandering too far from the present to perceive what is being said at the moment. 

That which particularly intrigues it here and now is the sensation of life – a faded presence now, yet once it must have been a vibrant and passionate soul, a hungry flame doomed to the loneliest of confinement that was and ever will be. A man jailed in the lowermost level of a prison on the remotest island in the middle of the widest ocean will still call himself a happy man compared to this unfortunate… someone whose traces Arceus is now inspecting. Palkia and Dialga had both intervened in this place’s structure so that it may serve as a prison – though apparently, it is not as effective as they had hoped it will be for the occupant who was once here is now nowhere to be sensed. 

_-Who was he?_ It _feels_ rather masculine to Arceus at least – there remains only a faint impression of anyone ever being there in the first place to be perfectly certain, _-And how did he escape?_

_-I can give you answer to the first question,_ Palkia replies though in its voice can be heard a new note of restlessness can be heard if one cares to listen closely enough, as is the case with Arceus, _-though I have the same question to puzzle over as your second._

Notable among the three Creation Dragons for being relatively the most soft-spoken, it is thus more unsettling to sense the growing bitterness which has leaked into its ambient Aura than if it has come from Giratina or Dialga instead. Its wings extended to the fullest in beckoning the entirety of the gloomy world around them, it says, _-This was the same Closed World which Dialga and I had opened under the duress from the Red Chains. We had hoped that he would eventually fade off in here, thus all of those… ‘modifications’ you have sensed around here._

_-Cyrus,_ Arceus says and it peers at its otherwise unremarkable surroundings with a renewed, albeit sick, wonder, _-you were talking about Cyrus._

And yet – 

What Cyrus feels to Arceus is not what the Unown’s predator has emanated. Despite his devilry and whatever else his twisted mind had devised, Cyrus – even flung out of the Earthly Realm and stripped off his physical body by the dimensional fluxes – was a human through and through. The tangy leftover Aura of the predator is nothing alike and being most certainly a Magical Creature, an assumption which is supported by its dimension-hopping abilities. The more gifted of the humans may traverse the hidden layers of the Earthly Realm, perhaps venturing as far as the Dreamworld or the Spirit Wilderness, but to escape the circle of Earthly Bounds altogether is a privilege granted to a handful few in all the annals of history (the numerous Unown notwithstanding). 

_-…A Closed World should have been impenetrable to Cyrus, bodied or not. Yet, I fear all the same and now –_

_-You are right. A human is simply not capable of escaping an alien dimension – without outside influence, that is,_ Arceus says because even as they speak, Arceus has sent its Aural probes further and deeper until at last, it finds what it expects lurking underneath all the apparent chaos: the predator’s presence is unmistakable from the leftovers of its Aura, bitter and pungent to Arceus’ naturally sensitive perceptions. _-Perhaps, this quarry of mine has wreaked more havoc than terrorizing the Unown._

Having been mostly forgotten in its silence, the little Unown lets out an involuntary squeak of distress at the recollection which in turn prompts its fear in disturbing the Legends out of their pondering. However, neither Arceus nor Palkia has any intention to prove legitimate the Unown’s worry. The Symbol Creature’s aversion is not at all difficult to emphatize with once Palkia itself is exposed to the offensive taste of it – with Arceus guiding Palkia’s senses to the predator’s remnant – which the Spatial Legend reacts to by baring its teeth in an uncomfortable grimace, the wings coming together to rub against themselves in its subconscious gesture of restlessness. 

_-If this is who you were after,_ Palkia says, its mind-voice a harsh equivalent to the growls coming through its clenched teeth, _-then I am not surprised that the madman was able to escape. Such a ruinous presence!_

The Unown flies towards Arceus, seeking protection to the Legend’s proximity from the unpleasant Aura and, just in case despite how unlikely it actually is, from Palkia’s frustration as well. Arceus spares a moment to touch its mind with its own, only long enough for the Unown to be reassured of its safety, before Palkia’s palpable anger weighs too much on its mental to be ignored. 

_-I doubt that it is a deliberate cooperation,_ Arceus concedes, _-It has come for the Unown to feed on their Aura; it can be that it came for Cyrus for the same reason._

_-It does not matter. The damage is done._

As much as Arceus dislikes the pessimism, there are no two ways of putting the mangled state of the Closed World. The deep scarring sustained by its dimensional fabric is too severe to merit healing even if it is possible. Palkia will rather exterminate it rather than risking its deterioration blighting the adjacent worlds as well, not to mention the wisdom of preserving one’s energy to mend a world less hopelessly compromised than this one. Such conditions requiring the extreme measures come few and far between, coming from the fact of Palkia’s distaste to resort to its irreversibility as well as the fact that few sources are destructive enough to surpass Palkia’s mending capabilities – 

Realization comes swift and suddenly, it makes the knowledge dizzying to grasp at first. There are indeed few enough Magical Creatures in existence with powers to upset Palkia’s mastery over the spaces. The last time a world is compromised so badly, it had been on Earth where Palkia was forced to uplift a portion of the Earthly Realm and convert it into a Closed World, lest the decay spread over to otherwise unrelated places. 

The last time it happened, Arceus itself had been invoked to help delay the ravenous decomposition as the trapped innocents made their timely escapes before Palkia proceeded with the quarantine, collaterally destroying an age-old human tower in the process. 

_-Do whatever you see fit with the situation,_ Arceus says to Palkia and making no attempt to clarify its sudden urgency. To the Unown, it says, _-You can stay here or return to your brethren, but you may not come with me this time._

_-Great One –_

_-I must go,_ Arceus declares. In those three words, the Alpha Legend makes it absolutely clear that it may not be diverted from its course that both Palkia and the Unown instinctively hold back their inquiries as Arceus offhandedly shapes an exit portal into existence before it. 

A backward glance as one long, white leg hovers over the threshold of the door; Arceus’ eyes shine, hiding a mind brewing with thoughts, and one last instruction is given: Keep me informed. Palkia’s head dips in compliance though when its eyes are raised again Arceus is already gone, the prismatic lights around the portal writhing momentarily before collapsing in on itself, leaving both the Legend and the Symbol Creature quite confused with how the matters turn out. 

  
  


It is a long way from Earthly Realm but Arceus is greatly unrestrained by the lack of a mortal passenger on its back, which had confined it to a safer but longer route before; now, Arceus flies unimpeded through its created passageway in the spaces between the dimensions, as free as Rayquaza high in the heavens, though the liberty in the heart of one is not what occupies Arceus at the moment. There are suspicions and nothing is for certain, yet for the moment Arceus has little alternative which is just as viable to pursue. 

The liveliness of Earth grows brighter in Arceus’ perceptions the nearer it comes to it. A meticulous observation, and Arceus quickly chooses its target once found and sends its power-laced will ahead of it. It is a soft touch from its mind and the yarns and strands of the reality unravels, orderly rather than chaotic, and the gap yawning open in front of it becomes the many-coloured gateway identical to the one which was used to depart from Palkia’s prison dimension. A bright, sunny day greets it on the other side, the sun’s golden rays awash upon the vast field of wheat whose individual stalks sway to and fro with the breeze, stretching and filling most of the valley hidden in the encircling mountain range. 

When the timeline was altered and the Jewel of Life recovered, Arceus has taken upon itself to re-acquaint itself with the changed reality – one of them being the fates of the desert-people, whom it has loved as it loves the people of Michina. It was called by a different name once, so long ago, but down the many generations of inhabitants the place’s name has orally evolved to what it is known today: Arche Valley. 

Some things, however, remain almost unchanged. 

Arceus inhales in the sense of serenity and closeness abound in this remote place and, more hearteningly, the myriads hearts of the people, closer to its own than most other humans anywhere on Earth, second only to Ash’s (whose tiny piece now resides _inside_ Arceus), Damos and his descendants. Hiding itself behind clouds, white and fluffy without the slightest tinge of a storm’s greyness, with the fierce sun outshining Arceus’ undiminished glow, Arceus affords itself a careful inspection on the inhabitants in peace, free from the fear of unduly discovery. Two souls it searches; brighter than the rest, gifted from their fore-bearers with powers greater than the rest of the present Archeans. Nowhere near Arceus’ mastery certainly, but what they wield is nevertheless connected to the Original One, whose characteristic flank-wheels are made of it many more likenesses from ivory and marbles erected around the village – reminders of their ancient connection to the Original One, older than Arceus’ rescue of the unfortunate refugees who would become Michina’s pioneer settlers. 

Arceus has sensed them before: two humans whose hearts had called to Arceus’ powers within them – and when Arceus appeared itself, it too has heard their silent cries for help, pitiable and resigning. Arceus has thusly used its powers in a way much less discreet than it intended; saving their companion from the mad isolation which would have waited if Arceus has not slowed the reality decay and allow the trapped victim to be swallowed into it. 

Now, though… _now,_ Arceus questions whether the rescue has indirectly led to the Unown’s massacre, though dearly it wishes that it is not so. 

The humans are found easily, in a matter of seconds. In Aural perceptions, they are like two little embers among the dimness of other souls, though in older days there were brighter embers to be seen, and there were more of them. Arceus has wondered how to approach them without arousing suspicion of their fellow villagers, nor wanting to reveal itself fully to the others. These are personal inquiries which no one else should be privy to – Arceus does not need extra mouths to spread unfortunate rumours or cause unnecessary uproars. Fortunately, while most of its inhabitants prefer to stay indoors during the high noon, they happen to be alone in the far edge of the wheat-fields by the stream. Arceus counts this as its luck after the streak of vagueness ever since it involves itself with the beleaguered Unown and proceeds to their site as fast as flight in secrecy will allow it, as well as summoning upon itself an invocation of fadedness for further concealment so that eyes which may involuntarily directed its way will slide right over it and be rendered completely unaware of the Legend sailing through the sky. It is a trick rarely used, and used effectively only in its animalistic forme – making Arceus more inclined to adapt into other mortal bodies in the occasional instances it wishes to walk the Earth. 

However, urgency makes it less fickle in its approach; besides, it is only a short way from the sky to one of the peaks of the surrounding mountains. Arceus chooses one of the lowest, concealed in the shadows of the higher ones, and strengthens its concealment power, encouraging it to grow and expand outwards. The ‘spell’, as what it will be called by confused humans awed in the apparent mystics of it, begin to swallow the area surrounding the Legend – taking in the cliff-sides and narrow passes of the mountain – and crawls down to the base and onwards towards the edge of the planting field, golden-yellow in the harsh noon-light, sealing the concealment circle from where Arceus has landed up to a few yards beyond where the two humans are, apparently content in relaxing and eating in the shades of the cluster of closely growing palm trees by the stream. 

The spell of concealment works to supress Arceus’ presence in the normal as well as mental perceptions, and only by enveloping them in the power does their pendants – shaped in rough likeness to the one Arceus has around its flank – begin to be stimulated by their origin’s presence. 

Alarmed by the sudden glow from their pendants, they spring up to their feet like Trapinch lunging out of their pit-traps to snatch their unfortunate victims. Of the two, the man is the first to notice the strange form outlined in golden radiance between the narrow pass in the mountain compared to the young woman – his sister. Though perplexed, their feet are urged towards the half-hidden Legend by their curiousity and the gleams of their own pendants which are more brilliant than they have ever seen in their lives; so brightly, in fact, that they are forced to squint their eyes if one is to look at it directly. When they are near enough that neither light nor shadows hinder their sight of the Original One, they give out gasps almost orchestrated in unison; then they try to fall to their knees, reverent and clutching their shining pendants, but Arceus’ tangible aura swiftly grasps them about and set them back on their feet. 

The brother and older sibling of the two, struggling to have his voice mastered against the advance of nervousness before the very creature whose name his father and grandfather has respectfully mentioned throughout his brief youth with them, finally opens his mouth: “Arceus – Your Lordship –” 

_-I have known your people in the old days,_ Arceus interrupts, saving both time and his stumbling appellations from being unnecessarily stretched, _-and I have come to know you as well - Baraz and Meray,_ addressing each of them in turn as their names are uttered. 

Shocked as their names being spoken, nevertheless they manage to recover themselves quickly and bow to the Legend, unnerved yet honoured to be recognized. 

“What… How may we serve you, Arceus?” Baraz asks; Meray stands silent beside him, her head downed but her gaze ever careful to lay on the Original One. 

_-Where is the_ djinn? 

Here, they grow restless with fear, knowing beyond doubt that the djinn referred to is no other than their charge, Hoopa. It is not unknown to Arceus that the siblings are Hoopa’s chief caretakers, a role they have taken from their grandfather Ghris, whom the Unown have told of as a man fond of secret places and isolation to meditate on his own, often for days at a time; and whose powers had been greatest among the Archeans in the past three hundred years as a result. 

As Hoopa’s caretakers, they will be the most reasonable people to be referred to – because it has been for the mischievous Legend that Arceus has flown through the darkness of between-spaces to return to Earth. 

Baraz begins to say something but at the moment Arceus senses a detached presence probing the general area where Baraz and Meray were mere minutes ago. If it has been a human or ordinary Magical Creatures, Arceus would have disregard the attention except that the entity which does so bears resemblance to the predator’s Aural. That this being feels oddly… ‘instantaneous’ rather than emerging gradually while it approaches the vicinity is explained for when the Original One eases its concealing grasp just a little, enough so that its prodding will reach through. It starts as a thin glow, mysteriously conjured out of thin air between Arceus and the caretaker siblings; a streak of yellowish light that thickens to solidity and becoming a golden ring that floats unsupported mid-air, bordering a centre of shifting, psychedelic hues of purple, black and red. It is not unlike a portal, if different from Arceus’ or its Guardians’ creations in that it is physically framed. 

From this hoop-portal, something flies out of the swirly, churning centre: a horned, pudgy form whose face is split by a widely-grinning mouth. 

“Hoopa got more donuts! Like you asked!” The creature – unquestionably Hoopa in its Confined forme – exclaims and, indeed, in one of its hand is a basketful of sweets and confectionaries, “But why are Baraz and Meray far away? Hoopa couldn’t feel you well, Hoopa had to use ring –” 

Once again Baraz is cut short from alerting Hoopa to the presence of their celestial guest, as Hoopa itself has fallen quiet. For Arceus’ unchecked Aural presence in the circle of its own hiding is as conspicuous and foreboding as its physical self, and the shadow its body casts on the newly emerged Hoopa makes the _djinn_ wheels around warily, retrieving the portal-hoop to fit around one of its horns as it does. 

For a time, one examines the other in silence and stillness so distressing that the air itself seems to tense up; then, slowly, Hoopa raises the hand which is still holding on to the sweet-basket. 

With its grin leaning more into uncertainty than mirth, Hoopa squeaks, “Um… want donuts?” 

Arceus _has_ to sigh. Its quest is not yet ended as hoped. 

  
*****

  


Ultimately, Ash is persuaded to take Cynthia’s offer to ride with her and Prof. Rowan to Celestic Town, having seen his exuberance in learning about Legendary Pokémon. He insists that his inquiry is not even tangentially academic but in return, the woman insists that knowledge is knowledge, useful in the future even though it might not be gained for the original purpose. And Ash feels the gap in his memories yawns ever more hungrily, wanting fulfilment with every moment it is not, that sitting idle while knowing that he could have learnt _something_ – whatever it may be – becomes an unwelcome notion. If anything else could have been said of the spontaneous Legendary Pokémon-fiesta in Dahara City, it may conceivably be found in the town’s research centre, thus far being the only clue to hopefully cure his blankness. Though alarmed, his worried Pikachu decides not to object to the Trainer’s plan, which Ash is grateful for to have the Pokémon’s (wary) support. 

On the other hand, Arceus’ vanishing is still a weight in its mind which refuses to ease. 

This is a matter more easily quietened than his desire to remember in that he can easily be found if Arceus so wishes, as was told and demonstrated to him time and time again. In spite of it, Ash still leaves a message to the maid sisters, to be relayed to ‘Aidan’ if he so happens to show up there during Ash’s absence, saying where he can be found if that is the case – in the meantime scoffing internally at himself for being an unnecessary worrywart. 

It is just a little above an hour that they are ready to depart once more, this time with their bellies full. Ash and Pikachu takes for themselves the whole of the backseat of Cynthia’s old rugged jeep while Prof. Rowan rides at the front, and Cynthia naturally is the driver. Discounting the occasional jaunts through the forest shortcuts, the journey is uneventful for the most part. Asking either Prof. Rowan or Cynthia on the matter of Legendary Pokémon yields limited results for they know little for certain and has to assume much to fill in where facts are unavailable, which they are not too confident to disclose for fear of misleading information. 

“It’s your lucky day though: Grandma wasn’t always at the centre but she is today, I’ve just called in the centre to make sure. She can give you as good answer as any if you’ve got asking to do.” 

“Besides, the centre also keeps copies of ancient tablets and scrolls uncovered during archaeological ventures,” Prof. Rowan is saying as they emerge from the latest shortcut and back to the main road, “and there’re unofficial reports too along the formal ones. That’ll serve you good enough since you’re not looking to write research thesis.” 

Now that they are on the topic of Legendary Pokémon, Ash is intuited to ask what the researches have discerned about his Pokémon-lover. He has asked a few things to the Legend in question himself, though answers he receives range from cryptic and vague to being altogether evaded. Perhaps in due time he will be better informed (though Ash suspects these are the few things he is not meant to know, consort or no), but at the time being his lack of insights from human perspective feels just weird. 

So he asks, “So, what’s there to know about… Arceus?” 

“Not much,” is Prof. Rowan’s reply while Cynthia simply murmurs a plaintive sound. 

“The thing is: there are at most three sources citing Arceus by name; the rest refers to it by cryptic titles. We know that it _is_ called Arceus from extremely rare inscriptions, like those carved in Sinjoh Ruins; or from historians, who in turn heard about it from local people. Mostly, we have to figure out the connections ourselves.” 

“In any case, if there’s something to know about Legendary Pokémon, the centre is your best stake,” Prof. Rowan pauses as a glimpse of quaint-looking town becomes visible on the horizon. “Speaking of which – there’s Celestic Town.” 

Cynthia’s driving soon brings them to their destination, though to their surprise they are not the only ones looking for the research centre today. However, these other people, whom they find just about to ascend the stairs as Cynthia parks her jeep beside the building, are not at all strangers to their knowledge, Pikachu being the quickest to recognize them as the couple Tonio and Alice with Brock acting as their lone escort; and so the surprise turns to delight and the two groups join and greet each other amiably. 

Ash is especially delighted to see Brock, and likewise Brock takes his friend’s hand to shake and clasps the Ketchum’s back. 

“What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were back home all these time!” After all, Brock had been there to send Ash off in Lilypad Town. On top of that, their last call has been made while Ash was indeed in Kanto. 

Pikachu chirps discreetly from his side, as mindful as Ash that there are people around who are not the most ideal people to overhear his extraordinary voyage. “Yeah, that’s… kinda long story.” 

He intones his response the best way he can to hint that it is not a subject to be casually brought out in public. Brock will likely accept the truth readily, having known general details on the matters between Ash and Arceus; what amazes Ash is how just as readily his friend to conclude that this is exactly the reason for his secretiveness, as told by the thoughtful frown and the timid (but amused) grin afterwards. 

“Something to do with Al –” Brock catches himself just in time, suddenly realizing that Arceus’ human identity as Alice coincides with Tonio’s fiancée. “I mean, you-know-who.” 

“Right. And you – I thought you’d lain off bodyguarding by now.” Ash stops; realizing that the others’ conversation has sloped more and more into idleness, interested as they are to proceed with their respective plans than to stop and chat. “Tell you what – Come to the Mountain Maid Café, will ya? I’m staying there for now, maybe for a couple more days.” 

The others have ceased conversations by now. Ash, Pikachu and Brock follows after them as they enter through the door, to be met with a sterile and white-dominated environment within – white tiles, white ceilings and walls, even most of its equipment. Upsetting this orderliness are the mumble-jumble of the working scientists who, having claimed or given their main computer terminals, proceed to personify them with decorative knick-knacks or strew in those spaces their works and papers after their own fashions. These the newcomers ignore for Prof. Rowan strides straight ahead to the wooden door at the far end of the complex, only for an observant fellow to stop them to ask if they mean to meet Prof. Carolina, to whom the room behind the wooden door belongs to. 

“I saw her with Prof. Graceland half an hour ago, going out through the back door,” the young scientist, looking to be at about the same age as Ash, says when asked further on Prof. Carolina, “Looks like they’re going to the ruins. Oh, there’s a girl with them too – a visitor, looks like.” 

Ash takes his time to remember who, exactly, this familiar-sounding Prof. Graceland is when Brock whisper-interrupts Cynthia: “Prof. Graceland? That Newton ‘Reverse World-maniac-slash-explorer’ Graceland?” 

“And our most dedicated and the best source for Reverse World’s knowledge, yes.” A quick glance at her watch – apparently fitted with the date as well as time – brings a frown to her face. “But he’s not due to return for, well, another month.” 

Prof. Rowan thanks the helpful scientist and sends him on his way. Of the group, he leads them into a new direction, towards the exit which opens to the sunlight and weathered collections of ancient stone floors which were once a courtyard of a shrine, a palace or some other possible complex which majorly comprises Celestic Ruins as they are today. There are no vines or other creeping plants to mar what is left of the structure, the researchers here being duteous in their conservation and restorations, but still age has crumbled most of them that only a number of broken pillar-columns remain aboveground. Ash has not explored this site thoroughly but he knows that there are underground pathways and interconnected rooms beneath the superficial ruins on top as discovered by archaeologists just a few years ago. 

These basement levels have little indications of existing at all save for the unassuming stone archway at the back of the ruins and a crack in the stone-floor under it, where the empty shadows glimpsed beyond have since revealed a whole systematic construction beneath their feet when the entrance was carefully widened – so Cynthia tells them as they make their way through the ruined courtyard. 

“Grandma is very excited about these discoveries but because of safety concerns, she rarely goes down there anymore… Come to think of it, she really shouldn’t be out here for long. She’s getting sick easily these past weeks; it’s good enough she can come working.” 

“You mean… since you got back from visiting Tonio?” Brock asks, warily curious, and in return making Ash remember the onset of colds and headaches he had seen plaguing the old woman since her arrival in Lilypad Town with Cynthia. It does not seem very reassuring that she is inflicted for an extended period by illnesses whose cures are easily dispensed. 

“Yes. I’ve given her some meds and made her rest at home when she didn’t look too well.” If Cynthia sounds a little defensive, Ash would not have been offended in the slightest though she quickly recovers herself, adopting instead a humourless smile which speaks deeply of helpless frustration. “She absolutely refuses to go to a clinic no matter what I did. Said she’ll set my jeep on fire if I’m being tricky.” 

The smile becomes a bit warmer but the anxiety stays stubbornly rooted to every word and facial expression – understandable to both Ash and Brock who have had plenty of their own shares in caring (and worrying) for others, both humans and Pokémon. 

The professor in question makes her appearance even as they speak, to which Pikachu brings their notice with loud _pika’s._ She makes her way, apparently, from the arched stone over at the end of the ruins where the entrance to those below-levels lay to cheerfully greet her visitors. All of them answer her but Cynthia is notably the happiest to see her unaffected by those illnesses – until the woman scientist is near enough for Ash to pick up the unwholesome signs on her face which are easily overlooked if Cynthia has not disclosed to them of the professor’s fluctuating health. As of now, her skin is sallow and her cheeks have gained concaveness which is not there the last time he saw her in Lilypad Town; shadowy bags line the underside of her dim, tired eyes, making him wonder if her sleep has been as affected as her works. 

His speculations are crudely interrupted by the burst of dubiously commonplace red light from his side, followed by Brock’s shouts – 

“Hey, hey, hey – You shouldn’t be out here, Croagunk –!” 

– as a froggy shape materializes out of the red light, itself stemming from the Pokéball which (for most of the time) holds the Toxic Mouth Pokémon. Already Brock heaves a preparatory breath, expectant of a Poison Jab forthcoming any moment now and giving up trying to defend himself that, _no, he is not about to go flirting either the Pokémon Professor or the granddaughter,_ knowing that he will be unheeded by the Pokémon and causing alarms in these women. 

Instead, the toxic frog gives his surroundings and the people in it a quick survey, his deceptively baleful stares jumping to one after another on those present. His search ends when his eyes find Professor Carolina, standing a few feet away from the rest, whereupon a series of convulsions wrack through the frog Pokémon’s body before waning just as immediately as it begins. 

“What the –…?” 

_“…‘Anticipation’?”_ Prof. Rowan whispers wonderingly, referring to one of the possible Abilities inherent to a Croagunk. Indeed, Ash remembers that Brock’s Croagunk does possess Anticipation instead of Dry Skin although he is not so sure if the Pokémon’s previous demonstrations had involved similar whole-body trembling. Croagunk, having shaken off the last of the impromptu shudders, finally fixes Brock a meaningful glance after his seeming apathy – and immediately lapses into a battling stance which faces, of all people, Professor Carolina. 

With sizzling noises like heated oil in a frying pan, Croagunk’s hands become steeped in Poisonous glow heralding a preparation for a serious, Pokémon-battling Poison Jab and not some mildly debilitating strikes which Brock has been at the receiving end for too many times to count. The gasps from his audience are sharp, shocked and not the least horrified, but Croagunk heeds nothing at the moment but his own thoughts; thoughts which, at the moment, are singularly focused on the woman professor, as are the aims for his future Poison Jab with his long arms taut like pulled bowstrings ready to unleash the nocked arrow. 

“What is the meaning of this?!” Professor Carolina’s voice echoes through the jumbled mutterings of many voices, prompting Cynthia to step forward to her grandmother’s defence. She is seconds away from withdrawing one of the Pokéballs hidden in her coat but Brock’s advance halts motion in the confusing chaos that infuses the moments. 

Pikachu barks, unsure and worried as to what reasonable responses to give. Ash signals a stand-down with a palm held up; intending to understand more and see what Brock will make out of these impending catastrophe. If Brock has taken to restraining the Croagunk, Ash would have jumped in to help with the efforts, the readied Poison Jab notwithstanding, but his friend does nothing that looks like an attempt to do as such. 

“Brock, what is wrong with your Pokémon?!” Prof. Carolina makes no attempt to disguise the indignity and the anger borne of it, both now bleeding profusely into her increasingly loud voice, “Brock! Get a leash on that thing!” 

Croagunk, ignorant of the mutterings and Professor Carolina’s enraged demands, has been steadily making his way towards the woman until he stands between her and the rest of the group. His hands are still deeply profused with the Poison’s sickly glow, which he now poises ever more readily for a strike but for some reasons still does not execute. 

“Professor,” Brock calls out, his voice is much less louder than Prof. Carolina but his positioning behind the Croagunk and the steady regard he gives the Pokémon Professor diffuses the frantic actions into watchful quietness. “Is there anything you’re hiding from us?” 

“Hiding… – Oh, I can’t believe this. You’re blaming me for your Pokémon’s misbehaviour?” 

“Hold on a second,” Brock is saying this to Cynthia who is only slightly less ready to spring into action than the Croagunk, what with her confusion being still strong to opt for a definitive course. To her grandmother, Brock resumes by saying, “Right there – that’s Croagunk’s Anticipation, like Prof. Rowan said. It won’t get triggered unless there’s an opponent nearby… or that something is really wrong.” 

“Brock, cut the fusses out. There’s no reason for these suspicions –” 

“Please, Tonio. Trust me.” Prof. Carolina snorts, dismissive and very much soured by the manner the Toxic Mouth Pokémon is treating her presence. “This is ridiculous. Your Pokémon is just insane, there’s no way to explain this… this _barbarity.”_

“Croagunk’s a bit difficult at times, sure,” Brock replies (to which Croagunk growls in a disbelieving way one would roll his eyes), “but he’s far from insane.” 

Croagunk’s cheeks puff out enormously, distending the poisonous cheek-sacs to frightening volume. The frog-noises from his throat are magnified by these, turning his croaks closer to sounding like deep-throated bellows or even roars. Much to Ash’s surprise, his own Pikachu responds to these vocalizations with agreeing _pika’s_ of his own and rushes to crouch defensively beside Croagunk, his erect tail showcasing that the lightning-shaped bends are not just for show, with electric sparks crackling and wreathing excitedly along the tail. 

“Pikachu!” He calls out but the Mouse Pokémon will not budge – which, really, is all the conviction he needs when he takes the next few seconds for reflection. 

Ash steps forward to join Brock by his side, mirroring the positions adopted by their respective Pokémon. Brock’s face up-close reveals that despite his stand, there are traces of restless uncertainty for the still very viable chances that this is all just a big and convoluted mistake that he will have to heartily apologize to all the people involved when it is resolved. Seeing this, Ash catches his moments of distrust as well, that frightening sensation of teetering on top of a thin wall whose narrow ledge he has been treading uneasily, before the sight of his Pikachu and Croagunk banded together in spite of resistances from the humans convinces Ash to make the jump and find his own ground. 

Ash’s stand furthers the tension in the group. Particularly, Professor Carolina looks even more scandalized that her sallow-skinned cheeks become coloured with anger. “This is unbelievable. You’ll believe a Pokémon more than a fellow human?” 

“I can’t pretend I know what’s happening, but I do trust Pikachu.” Pikachu chirps gratefully, a sentiment shared by Brock although the others are much less enthusiastic with either his decision or his reasoning. “Isn’t that what Pokémon Trainers do, Cynthia? A Trainer and his Pokémon should believe in each other. It’s how the best teams work – you know this better than anyone else.” 

Normally strong and confident – every bit the picture of elegance and the epitomic Champion worthy of admiration – Cynthia is understandably at loss in finding herself thrust into a situation as extraordinary and disastrous as this. But she hasn’t stayed as long as she does as a Champion by being careless or gullible. Perhaps her decision would have been different if they were not Ash and Brock, but she has known them both from her own experience and knows better not to take their opinions lightly. 

“I’m sorry, Grandma,” she whispers. Though her voice trembles ever so slightly at the edges, her eyes are determined and critical, the way they become when the woman is entering battles, “but if there’s really nothing wrong… there’s no reason to be scared, does it?” 

Perhaps reminded of her affection towards her own late grandmother, Cynthia’s defiance comes as a shock to everyone, but most deeply it affects Alice in that her very instinct rebels against the hodgepodge the situations have become. She is ready to speak her piece if Prof. Carolina has not spoken herself; in fact, she basically stops everything in track, from her murderous glare and her grave smirk – decidedly very, very uncharacteristic for the Pokémon Professor as they have known her, which sets off the alarm in everybody’s head and convinces even the reserved Tonio that the so-called insane Croagunk is not so clueless after all. 

“This has stopped being amusing. I should’ve ended this a while ago, _brat.”_

It is like having an explosion appearing out of nowhere in their midst. 

A raised hand from Prof. Carolina should have amounted to little but Croagunk acts as if a death threat – or worse – have been issued and arches his arms in a defensive stance. Pikachu’s lightning reaction is to follow in the same manner independent of Ash’s order, beginning as an instinctive statics to full-fledged Thunderbolt. Both Poison Jab and Thunderbolt’s strikes lance through the air towards Prof. Carolina… and both are met in an ear-shattering burst of energy by a separate emanation from her hands. 

“What the…!” And in a fraction of seconds which showcase that the aged Prof. Rowan is not a force to be underestimated, he reflexively whips out a Pokéball from his coat pocket and unleashes a Staraptor, more massive than any of her kind Ash has seen so far, whose feathered wings solidify immediately upon emergence. She uses her Steel-transformed limbs to block the surging force similar to the ones which were intended for Croagunk and Pikachu, breaking apart the ghostly strike before it reaches her master but sending her reeling back with a shocked screech. 

Cynthia is better prepared; her Garchomp is out scarcely after Prof. Carolina is done speaking. Her body glowing with Draconic essence, Cynthia orders the land-shark into defensive sequence while three strikes speed their way. Two of these she shields with her arm-fins while the last, arching further than the others and is apparently intended for Tonio and Alice, is deflected with a swing of her tail which strangely begins to dissipate when its course is forcibly changed. 

“I see. The hard way it is,” Prof. Carolina says, shaking her head regretfully as she beholds her wary and confused visitors nevertheless readying themselves to act. 

The way she appears now, Ash is reminded of pavements on a hot day, where heat and air combines to alter the watchers’ sight into viewing the world through distorted ‘lenses’, except the mirage seems to be exclusively upon her rather than applied to her surroundings as well. Her very outline ripples like that of water disturbed, becoming fuzzier and more incoherent the longer Ash looks until it seems like there is an extra layer separate but conforming to her form. 

This layer, in return, darkens in hue until it seems that Prof. Carolina is covered in formless shadows – themselves begin to sprout long, writhing tendrils, eyeless yet somehow able to sense the presences of others around her, as told by their stiffening and contracting as springs readied to be released. 

Unthinking but recognizing nevertheless the imminent danger, Ash shouts, “Get down!” 

His exclamations put the others into motion; he and Brock dive for the nearest remnants of thick stone pillars, their respective Pokémon coming in closely behind them not a second too fast before the air becomes alive with the crackling energy-tendrils whipping and lashing after each of them like serpents cornered and angered into attacking, forcing them to crouch and huddle close to the ground. The others too have found their own shelters, with Cynthia covering for both Tonio and Alice while Prof. Rowan lunges behind a weathered stone slab which seems to have been chipped off a bigger block. Ash allows himself a steadying breath or two, then cautiously risks a glimpse from the relative safety of his covers. He notices that Prof. Carolina’s tendrils of energy are very much in appearance like Arceus’ manipulative aura, except where the Legend’s emanations are light as bright and warm as the sun, those which come from the Pokémon Professor are instead grey and shadowy, tinged with dark purples and blues at the edges. Even as he watches dumbstruck by this unexpected event, the cloud-like darkness around her thickens and expands outwards, an antithesis of the sun above them, sending forth swathes of living shadows which fear no sunlight but instead overwhelm it. These are less of solid projections – like those which Pikachu and Croagunk have been attacked with – rather than blanketing, ominous haze which crawls and slithers over the place like a thing possessed of a wicked sentience of its own. By the time Ash manages to shake off the stunned dumbness which has caught him unaware, the entirety of the back of the ruins is being eaten away by this shadowy corrosiveness, turning the sunlit world it touches into a bleaker, drearier version of it. 

True, he does not understand what truly happening but his instinct nevertheless calls for action – _fast._

“Brock, have Croagunk cover Pikachu,” Ash says while to the Mouse Pokémon, he points to the advancing fronts of the dark void above Prof. Carolina’s head, hoping against hope to somehow forestall its spreading from covering the area entirely. “Up there, use Thunderbolt!” 

Pikachu does as told. 

Croagunk, needing no repeat as to what is intended of him, leaps out from behind the pillar and proceed to meet the strikes of the energy tendrils intent to stop Pikachu with rapid-fire Poison Jabs. However, as Pikachu leaps and releases the bolt of lightning, the grey shroud shifts (its very movements are disturbing, reminding Ash of the thick oozing of Muk’s slime worsened a hundredfold) and absorbs the Thunderbolt strike like it is nothing, leaving no trace to show that any attempt to breach it has ever been made. Croagunk doubles his efforts in the resistance, giving Pikachu spaces to continue its assault – an effort that Cynthia and Prof. Rowan adopts with enthusiasm. 

“Garchomp, Brick Break!” 

“Use Fly, Staraptor!” 

As Cynthia and Prof. Rowan shout these orders, two red light-bursts herald the unleashing of more Pokémon: A Togekiss for the former and a scarred-faced Luxray for the latter, both posted to the line of defence and leaving free Garchomp and Staraptor to aid Pikachu’s mission. The two Pokémon soar up in unison to the level where the shroud is, the grey-and-white comet that is the Staraptor side by side with the Garchomp’s blue-and-red one. 

Seeing this, Prof. Carolina sends forth more of the energy-vines toward the bird and the land-shark Pokémon, which the Togekiss and Luxray counter cooperatively. Luxray’s Spark disintegrates most of the attacks while Togekiss’s Protect absorbs what the leonine Pokémon has missed. However, their efforts become mostly insignificant because the failures of Garchomp’s and Staraptor’s Attacks to put a dent in the creeping shroud above them: Where Staraptor tries to pierce through with Fly, the aquiline Pokémon finds herself caught in the oily tendrils sprouting from the veil above before her attack can be executed while Garchomp’s talons slash through only intangible smoke which reforms as soon as it is parted, its growth completely unhindered otherwise. 

For each time they try and the failures which follow, the precious seconds needed for the Pokémon to recollect themselves for another attempt allow the shadowy veil freedom to spread more voraciously, enveloping the ruins in its depressing shadows and filtering the sunlight above until what passes through are the opposite of what daylight should have been. 

“No good!” Ash hisses desperately, having seen the non-fruit of the labours of their Pokémon and retreats yet again behind the pillar as a shadowy coil waves threateningly in his way. “We’ve to try something else.” 

“We have to go for Prof. Carolina,” Brock replies to the inquiry carefully conveyed in Ash’s quick glance towards said person. “It’s the only way – stops it at the source.” 

“I was afraid you’re going to agree,” referring to Ash’s distaste to turn his Pokémon against another person – especially so since this particular individual is highly respected and well-known to them – but recognizing the limitedness of their options. “We’ve got to move fast. Or have someone who can take hits.” 

“Got a couple battle-ready ones.” His fingers tap on two of the five Pokéballs latched onto his belt – Ash suspects one of those contains the Serperior whose prowess he has seen being exhibited in Michina in what feels like a lifetime ago. The serpentine Pokémon can definitely tank a fair amount of punishments if it comes to that and his vines can be manipulated as fast as the energy-tendrils coming from Prof. Carolina. “On three then. One –” 

But the countdown stops right there, ‘two’ being frozen on the verge of uttering by the sudden duskiness which descends over the land for as far the eyes can see as if night has decided to inexplicably replaces day, the darkening induced by Prof. Carolina having now been completed; the resistances she is met with are surprising even to her expectations, and so has decided to exerted herself in hastening the transformation before those people become too troublesome. Thus accomplished, the group is left in a world which is still recognizably Celestic Ruins but somehow less ‘real’ – everything around them is fuzzy as if seen through badly fogged-over windows. The sun above them has lost all the warmth and cheery light it once generously pours over the planet, appearing now as a black circle like a full solar eclipse and shining with a strange, harsh light which seems to have made the shadows darker and thicker rather than alleviating them as normal light would. 

_“Don’t worry,”_ says the Prof. Carolina who is not, exactly, her, _“this is still Earth – or rather, one of the hidden layers of Earth. No pesky visitors will be disturbing us now, in here.”_

Exchanging disheartened looks between them, Ash glances over at where the others are hiding. Tonio and Alice have taken refuges behind a cluster of cracked stone blocks further than the rest of them while Prof. Rowan are crouched in a position which makes it difficult for them to be noticed, though what can be seen of his face copies their own dismal. Cynthia, kneeling behind a stone mast and covered protectively by the Togekiss’ flap-like wingss, is nearest to where Brock and Ash have taken cover and she, like them, risks the chances to steal a peek at whom they have called Prof. Carolina. 

Though the attacks cease the moment the last strip of the normal Earth is converted into the shadowy facsimile of it, not one of them consider this as a sign of armistice. More importantly, there are no longer any shred of doubt that this ‘Prof. Carolina’ will not hesitate to see to their demises if it suits her needs or desires, instead of being the benevolent and hardworking woman whom they have known her for. Even her voice itself undergoes a disturbing change which has taken on a rougher base and drier rasps, leaving any trace of femininity and morphing instead into a man’s lower pitches, though this is not the aspect the most horrifying to them. It is the deep shadows which overlay her form, a ghostly apparition which sways and flows as if moved by unseen waters surrounding them. There is a face on this ghost, a vague collection of features which suggests of something human that may be comprehensible if one examines them closely – something recognizable and not too alien – 

Alice’s gasp is the first sound to have come from the shocked watchers. There are words in her mouth she intends to speak but something horrid stills her tongue, so that there are scarcely more than disjointed claims can be forced out despite her struggles, “That was ‘it’! That… ghost-thing attacking us in Alamos –” 

However, it is Prof. Rowan who finally digs deeply enough into his memories to dredge up a name none of them has anything respectable to speak of: “That cannot be – Cyrus…!” 

And the ghost, perhaps in his own perverted ways being genuinely amused to have been named for all these years it has endured nameless and unremembered, smiles an atrocious smile which Prof. Carolina’s face grotesquely reflects despite her physically human visage, sending chills down the spines of her audience. 

“But how?” Cynthia asks, mastering her shock and horror at discovering her once-colleague is now this undead thing of smoke and shadows. “You vanished through the portal – the world you tried to –” 

_“Silence, girl.”_

The menace is not lost even when it is hidden behind the low volume. Cynthia wisely obeys and keeps the subject to herself, afraid that further probing will antagonize Cyrus into carrying out his threat. There is no denying that it is a harrowing experience for Cyrus, ghost or no, and that bringing it up invites only ire from the already unpredictable man, whose apparition now will no doubt be even more so.


	21. The Nihilist And The Souleater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " Mistify, mislead, and surprise the enemy." \- Sun Tzu, The Art of War.

It is a scream within rather than without, being comprised not out of sound as conventional terms put it. There is no ‘normal’ medium for it to wave through, thus nothing to produce sound waves as logical minds understand it. 

Nevertheless, it has a voice – and it reaches to the only opposite end which is capable at all of perceiving something as such, to the other being made to listen to the whispers of the souls. The voice is weak for the connection itself was made long ago and in the haste of looming crisis; but it remains there still, as dealings made with creatures of Legend are not easily severed by powers not of their own, and the sleeping Mesprit stirs restlessly. 

Slumbering on in the tiny pocket dimension which it has made its home through the ages, the Being of Emotion is nonetheless conscious throughout it all. Being what it is, Mesprit’s connection to its vassal is closer than the bonds formed by the other Lake Guardians – but sooner or later, the distress which Mesprit has had the misfortune to experience first come for the others as well through their own interconnectedness which makes each a third of the whole. Other beings, Legends whose aloofness is what considered ‘proper’ for their kind and their unfair powers, would have tuned the voice out and steeled their hearts – but how can Mesprit, the very Avatar of Emotion, one of the Guardians of Spirit itself, bear with the ignorance? 

It has been a scream of agony, of a soul clawed and drained of its – _her_ – vitality. If it has continued, there will soon be nothing left of her but the drainage stops halfway through for some reasons unknown to the Lake Guardians, leaving her clinging still to life but greatly weakened. 

Mesprit braves itself to take a peek. And the peek is enough to birth the frightened vibrations that courses through Mesprit, reaching over to Uxie and eventually to Azelf, their fear multiplied and codified for each that feels it. For in their long existence, rarely they have needs of fear, and to have it justified from one delusional yet powerful man has made them wary of him. They will not name him properly, both out of fear and disgust, and what name they allow of him is through the most devious of his deeds: to take the sacred power of the ancient elemental Plates and shape them to suit his needs until they were no longer recognizable; turning to blasphemy the purest of forces which Arceus itself uses as its own. 

Now, he has returned – not in the form he once was but the darkness within whom the Lake Guardians call the Wielder of the Red Chains remains the same, burning with hatred and malice which had been there when the Masters of Time and Space were ensnared. 

The Lake Guardian’s fear reaches further out… 

  


*

  


Ash is wary when the spectral ground at Cyrus-possessed Professor begins to bulge and form a mound tangled with the same shadowy strings which envelops her body. However, his resolve pales when the comatose figure revealed from the slithery wrappings sparks recognition and fierce protectiveness in rapid succession. 

“Dawn!” 

Shouting and running at the same time, Ash has a split-second of terrible realization that he has left what meagre protection to be found behind the stone pillar which he has shared with Brock when a ghostly coil lashes in his direction. He dodges to the side, avoiding it from catching him squarely in the chest while Pikachu shatters another one racing for him with a Thunderbolt and taking a defensive stance in front of the Ketchum. The arched back is a sign other people should really know to keep well away from, if the hums of electrical potentials throughout the Pokémon’s body is not enough of a hint. 

_“I know this reunion calls for excitement, but let’s not let our feelings get ahead of ourselves.”_ Prof. Carolina – Cyrus – is saying in that bone-chillingly peculiar voice. They can still hear Prof. Carolina through Cyrus’ reverberating, guttural speech, which makes the listeners fidget despite themselves. It is disturbing as well to see that the ghost’s every movement is mirrored a few delayed seconds later by Prof. Carolina’s body: a human-marionette to the not-quite-human Cyrus. 

Others are ready to retaliate, following after Ash’s drastic measures, if they are not rendered helpless with the threat of the dark tendrils looming not only over them but over Dawn as well, merely seconds away from piercing her prone body if anyone should want to prove his boldness. Ash, being nearest to Cyrus than the others, is especially tormented by the tense-filled stalemate; hating the moments even more in recognizing that Dawn’s conjuring serves only to stay his hands from reacting with more than angry shouts. 

“What have you done to her?!” He shouts, desperate to come over and check if Cyrus is telling the truth but recognizing the closeness to be a fatal trap if he should fall into it. 

_“She is still alive. It is too much of a waste to drain the Aura of Mesprit’s vassal all at once.”_ Prof. Carolina is not physically able to do so but Cyrus’ non-living eyes – simply two pinpoints of lights in shadowy pits – flares blood-red, his rapture unmistakable despite his inhumanness. _“Come to think of it, I have all three Chosen Ones right here. What a fortunate coincidence!”_

A cold-feeling dreadfulness settles over Ash as the ghostly eyes rest upon him and seeing a great, terrible hunger staring back from the depths of them, like a starved beast finally discovering preys to feast over after a long season of fasting. By the way Brock stiffens as Cyrus slides his gaze from the Ketchum to his friend, Ash knows that Brock too has felt the eeriness which he himself has felt upon being recognized as vassals of Azelf and Uxie in the Mount Coronet conflict all those years ago. The three of them – himself, Brock and Dawn – are to be preferably kept alive and compliant, to better serve whatever purposes the ghost intends for them. 

This Ash understands as he surveys over the situations and trying to discern why bother threatening them in the first place, though whether or not the insights are a boon or a curse remains to be seen. However, the most bothersome thought at the moment is not his incomplete understanding – it was said by the scientist in the centre that two has followed Prof. Carolina to the ruins, yet only Dawn is shown to them. Ash fears to know if Cyrus finds the man not worth the trouble to keep alive as it did with Dawn if his words are worth any shred of trust. 

Before he can make any mention of this, the observant Prof. Rowan has also spotted the loophole and is quicker to voice it out loud, though his eyes remain vigilant to the tendrils hovering threateningly over Dawn, “Newton. Where is he, Cyrus?” 

Those pit-like eyes focus on Prof. Rowan with equal measure of deep, corrosive detestation and the merits of humouring the old Pokémon Professor. The same eyes speak of her decision to choose the latter when the hatred dims ever so slightly. _“If you insist…”_

Again, the shadow-bound Carolina-Cyrus’ feet convulses and bulges with an illusion of a gigantic earthworm is slithering underneath and making efforts to burst through to the surface. However, instead of some fanciful creatures, it is another dark-shrouded cocoon similar to the one containing Dawn previously pushes through the ‘dirt’ which rather behaves like the leftover ashes in a fireplace fanned to scatter about smoke-like, unravelling beneath a similarly unmoving body of the aforementioned Newton Graceland. 

Promptly, just after a collective shout for Newton come from the watchers, similar dark coils as those guarding Dawn come slithering and settle menacingly around Newton’s unconscious body, wriggling with reined desires for more than just custody of the man. 

_“Now that we have cleared these out,”_ Cyrus’ voice through Prof. Carolina mumbles thoughtfully, the first few words too soft to be heard by the wary audience while her not-so-human eyes dart about her environment, _“Let’s see… shall we have those meddlesome Pokémon stowed away?”_

“We are not fools, Cyrus. It is not enough to have our hands restrained; you would have us present our Pokémon to you as well?” Prof. Rowan growls through clenched teeth but the gesture of his hand stays the Staraptor. However, those bushy eyebrows tightly knitted together signify the same urge as that displayed by his agitated Pokémon. 

_“Interesting assumption, as always -”_ Prof. Carolina’s mouth becomes a horrifying line when it is supposedly an affectionate grin, _“- but incorrect. If these are Legendary Pokémon, it’ll be a different matter… as it is, I will settle for the next best thing.”_

A small gasp follows. Realizing her involuntary act of surprise, Alice clasps her hands over her mouth to silence any other sound from escaping, to prevent herself from being an attraction for whatever reason. However, Cyrus himself seems lost in his own contemplation – Prof. Carolina’s face is now set in a critical frown which usually accompanies a complicated revelation in her research – as his eyes pass over each of the defenders. 

_“You and Cynthia both are Untouched by Legendary Pokémon; how disappointing. At least that Graceland has Giratina’s traces, unappetizing as it is.”_ The ghost-Cyrus does indeed sound genuinely upset by this observation before his spectral mouth-slit and Prof. Carolina’s lips simultaneously split into identical grins. _“Now, for the last time, the Pokémon –”_

There is a bright flash whose source Ash has troubles discerning, mostly because his own eyes are already adapted to the shadowy gloom of the world as created by Cyrus. The groans from around him tell similar stories of discomfort from the other defenders as their eyes struggle with the sudden shock before the flare subsides enough to allow vision to their darkness-conditioned eyes. Still, it takes Ash a few seconds to notice and a few more after that to be convinced that the small, beige bundle between Newton and Dawn’s prone bodies is a Shieldon, radiantly bright with an unmistakable afterglow of a Flash Cannon which is apparently responsible for the tendrils’ incineration to dust. On a closer look, Newton himself is not as prone as he appears to be at first – there are movements in his fingers and hands, and his mouth is moving in a soft speech unheard by anyone else save for his Shieldon, whose hunched back and throaty growls signal readiness to fight. In the same breath, Dawn too is regaining her consciousness – rather abruptly, it seems from the way her chest heaves upward in a great gulping breath – and promptly activates Empoleon’s Pokéball to reinforce the line. 

For a moment of two, Cyrus’ ghost hovering closely around Prof. Carolina’s form loses a fraction of its coherency, revealing something else underneath the already faint suggestion of his enraged human face. There beneath the wide rip which emulates a mouth is another horizontal hole filled with shark-like teeth; below his existing ‘eyes’ appears another pair of light, shining however briefly like a second set of eyes – and then they are gone, as is the second teeth-filled maw. 

It is a momentary shock for Cyrus to find his hostage awake, enough for Cynthia to recognize her window of attack. 

There is no verbal command. Unwatchful of her advance, Garchomp’s strike comes apparently out of the blue for Cyrus, her winged arm spread wide and infused with Draconic power of Dragon Claw. As the limb slashes down, her eyes glitter with determination which is channelled from her Trainer – Cynthia’s emotions are running high with the stakes of her grandmother’s safety on the line – and Cyrus’s ghost nevertheless shrieks painfully as the sharp talon, missing his human host, tears through him though his smoky form just as quickly coalesces and stitches the gash seamlessly. Cynthia’s undaunted and decidedly dangerous spontaneity is taken up with much eagerness by the others. In many flashes of reds as Pokéballs are made to release their occupants, Prof. Rowan’s Staraptor, Brock’s Emolga and Swanna, as well as Ash’s Sawsbuck and Feraligatr are making beelines for Cyrus as a collective rush of Pokémon intending to overwhelm Cyrus with their numbers. A small number of Pokémon remain with their respective Trainers, these being Cynthia’s Togekiss for her own protection as well as Alice’s and Tonio’s, Luxray for Prof. Rowan, while Pikachu and Croagunk covering both Ash and Brock. However, Cyrus proves to be a formidable challenge still for his ghostly vines counterattack as fast as he is being attacked and keeping the defenders’ Pokémon at a rather steady distance from him, bringing the two sides to a nerve-wrenching stalemate as they struggle to gain grounds on their opponents. 

However, more than Cyrus’ defeat, Ash recognizes that Dawn’s and Newton’s security is an equally high priority when he exchanges looks with Brock because though they are awake, Newton or Dawn are very much vulnerable where they are now. Being so close to Cyrus to attack at a moment’s notice and with only so long the Shieldon and Empoleon can keep their grounds in their traumatized states, their concerns are thus divided between swift rescue and providing Cyrus distractions by focusing their attacks upon him. 

A nod from Ash – and Brock is throwing forth a Pokéball from which a long, graceful, serpentine form materializes in a red-flash. The Serperior’s length coils defensively around Brock and, under his Trainer’s instruction, stretches himself to cover Ash as well, a few yards away. 

“Pikachu, go!” Pikachu follows where Ash is pointing and hurries off to where Dawn and Newton lay, having immediately understood his Trainer’s intention. 

Croagunk bounds after Pikachu scarcely after Brock gives him similar instructions, deflecting attacks as he goes where evasion is impossible the nearer he comes to Cyrus. As far as their Pokémon go, only those two are swift and nimble enough to reach the hostages before Cyrus can make good on his threats, while still being able to defend their charges when they do reach their targets from further harm. Meanwhile, Brock somersaults himself over to the Serperior’s back and gestures for Ash to do the same. Having a little more difficulty than his friend due to inexperience, the Serperior’s leafy vines reach back and wrap around his midriff to heave him up, where Ash is seated behind Brock. 

“Come on, Serperior!” Brock urges, his fingers digging into the leaf-like scales for traction. “Go!” 

Ash braces himself for it, and still he finds himself lurched forward with the Serperior’s surging motion. His length undulates gracefully as the Serperior slithers this way and that to avoid Cyrus’ shots as best as he can, stirring smoke-coloured ‘dust’ from the unreal-looking ground in his passing and his vines whipping back and forth to counter those intended for his passengers. For Ash, his concentration is mostly kept on maintaining his balance – a surprisingly easy thing to do, considering that Serperior is not usually designated as mount and the hectic, fast fashion of their movements. 

Somewhere in the tumults, a terrible, breathy wheeze from Ash’s Sawsbuck signals an incapacitating injury sustained, apparently taking a direct hit intended for Alice; this is quickly followed by a human scream as a tentacle manages to sneak its way between the defenders and stab into Tonio’s legs with the tip moulded into barbed ends like a harpoon, slashing a gaping, ragged-edged wound in his calf. Ash is not exactly conscious of his recalling of the wounded Sawsbuck, while in the background shouts and Pokémon noises mingle together into something hardly coherent. 

It seems for hours they have struggled although the strange dark grey shroud above and around the group deny them a dependable measurement of time. Ash’s senses have begun to blur in the chaos of his environments. 

The next thing he knows, something has slammed into his sides, knocking him clean off his seat on the Serperior’s back. 

  


*

  


The next thing Arceus knows, a pain that is like many needles being stabbed into its chest – into its heart, more precisely – makes the Alpha Legend stops dead in its track for the second time since its venturing into the Unown’s troubles. This time though, Arceus is no longer willing to attribute the hurt to something whimsical or induced by its environment – which, for the moment, is the darkness of a Celestial Bridge. 

Having its mind previously occupied with discussions with Baraz, Meray and the Confined-forme Hoopa, Arceus finds it difficult to divert its attention elsewhere. What seems at first to be a fruitless detour to Arche Valley instead gains Arceus invaluable insights through the interviews with the Archean siblings and the genuinely innocent Hoopa. Of particular interest is Baraz’s input on Hoopa Unbound, the _djinn_ ’s other form when allowed the rest of its powers which had once caused the catastrophe culminating in Arceus’ arrival at the time-decayed Dahara Tower, a decade ago. As for the little donut-offering trickster itself, Arceus does indeed find resemblances to the Aura of the sought-after predator but without the paralyzing effects and the pungency which Arceus dislikes so much, among other things; and so Arceus has left Earth to further ponder the matters in the solitude of the nearest Celestial Bridge. 

These findings come with curiously mixed perceptions to Arceus. For one, it means that there is still an Aura-hungry predator somewhere to be tracked down (though now Arceus has more hints to guide it, as given by the siblings and their genie charge); on the other hand, Arceus is secretly relieved that the Hoopa is not responsible, hating to think what devastation it will bring to its long-standing friendship which was started by their grandfather. 

A case unsolved is very much Arceus’ source of annoyance without the concerns of a dangerous hunter around to add another layer of urgency. However, now Arceus’s dedications come into conflicts of which neither seems any less imperative than the other. The needle-prickling pain is itself not so worrisome – Arceus is no stranger to discomforts of varying degrees – but what is pertained in it sets Arceus on edges since Legends do not normally fall to sickness the way Earthly creatures do; and one inflicted on the heart has no encouraging news to tell at all. Curiously, when directing its focus inward to find the cause, Arceus’ innate connections with the Lake Guardians are strife with disharmony, themselves reflecting the states of the trio’s minds. They do not speak with words, but the inner voices of Mesprit, Uxie and Azelf chase one after another in the manners of their waking selves – a hectic narrative of images, sounds and sensations which jumps to and fro from one point to another – and they struggle to be heard by their Master. 

Equally alarmed and curious, Arceus opens itself to their pouring. 

Arceus receives all which can be told – and as understanding laboriously forms itself from the many pieces Arceus has painstakingly obtained, so too its fear rises to meet the dreadful realizations of what it has ignored and neglected. For they speak of the same name which Palkia vehemently did back in the prison-Closed World, and to call these pure coincidences stretches too much willingness than what is safely warranted; nor did Arceus has followed a blind lead in coming to Arche Valley. No, Palkia’s concerns are perfectly legitimate as Arceus has thought, while the minds of the Lake Guardians are the windows to the scene of its concerns materialized. 

And what scene it must be! 

Worst of all, perhaps, is Azelf’s attentive addition, uttered in soft whispers but with an air of someone privately convinced of its intuition. Arceus fears to share in the conviction that the Avatar of Willpower has sensed true, yet that must have been so. Who else could have caused the Legend’s heart any measure of pain if not Ash himself, the consort it has brazenly neglected, even for a good cause? 

Thinking so, Arceus’s fear climbs to a new height previously undiscovered. No mundane threats can affect the bond forged between them sufficiently as to be reflected back in itself. 

_What a fool I have been!_

It is a curse and a lament, the sentiments warring as they rise to dominate Arceus until the Legend can no longer tell which has triumphed over the other, knowing only that upon it an encompassing torment has descended. 

The Lake Guardians’ minds writhe restively to the distant echoes of their distressed Master; and they know, beyond everyone else, that this is not a matter to be put aside or delayed, hence urging the Original One to make haste for the source of it. No amount of poise learnt and cultivated through the long years of aloof watchfulness can calm the brewing turmoil within for in a casual glance Ash’s presence is dimmer than he should be, akin in sense but much less ephemeral than Palkia’s as it soars from one reality to another. Arceus hurries after the advices of the Lake Guardians while its own heart becomes the compass through which it may find again the Ketchum, wherever he may be hidden. 

  


*

  


Somewhere around his ribs, an unhealthy cold is seeping through his flesh and bones, chasing away warmth and makes Ash groan through gritted teeth. 

A warm hand catches him on the cheek; around his waist, an arm is slung about supportively. Then, comes Brock’s voice through the muffled shouts and screams of the fighters still struggling to gain advantages. 

“Ash,” he is calling, hurried and afraid. The arm around him is pulling insistently, encouraging movements that Ash does not feel himself capable of at the moment. “Come on, we have to get away.” 

Still, Ash tries. He wills strengths to return to his limbs, forcing himself to move first a finger, then a hand, then a whole arm – but by the time he tries to sit up properly, his sides begin to flare with sensations of iciness that eat their way into his chest, constricting his heart and lungs until he gasps with the effort to breathe. Pikachu is barking encouragements at his side; Ash does not know when the Pokémon has abandoned his original course and races back to him, but he is grateful for the concern. 

All the same, Ash is worried himself what has befallen Dawn and Newton while his body struggles with his failing strength. 

“Better than you,” Brock says tersely when asked of this. His expression is telling how seemingly insensible where Ash is giving his concern when he is himself rather compromised. “Serperior has reached them. Empoleon, Shieldon and him together are keeping Cyrus at bay.” 

As if to confirm Brock’s assessment, Cyrus lets loose a frustrated howl-like sound as Serperior thwarts his latest assault whilst finding himself struggling to hold the advancing Pokémon at bay. Urged by their Trainers and perhaps motivated by as well by the encouraging outlooks on Dawn and Newton, the Pokémon presses forward harder with Cynthia’s Garchomp primarily leading the charge, firstly occupying Cyrus with her rapid slashes before Prof. Rowans’s Staraptor moves in to take advantage of Cyrus’ disorientation – and in the process, forgetting that more than just Cyrus are receiving the brunt of their retaliation. 

Perhaps it is fortunate that Cyrus has managed to puppeteer Prof. Carolina’s body to the side, where Staraptor’s flesh-rending talons instead graze her lower arm rather than her more vital chest. Fresh, angry-red blood spurts from the long, newly-cut gash along her arm, churning the ephemeral shadows which hug the surface as they dribble down to the ground. 

“Stop! Garchomp, back down!” Cynthia’s yell resounds mightily, realizing the gravity of their actions with a start as she fearfully beholds a widening patch of fresh blood staining the lower sleeve of Prof. Carolina’s coat, where the fabric has been thoroughly ripped apart and showing the broken skin underneath. 

The landshark halts her movement. With her, so too the other Pokémon abort their attacks in their various stages of execution immediately and settle instinctively into a defensive ring centred on Prof. Carolina. Though their throats echo with their respective noises of warning, the complex reality of the situation, having dawned on the humans, are now being recognized by the Pokémon as well. The new and unexpected dynamics of their situations are not lost on Cyrus either, nor does he fail to recognize that his significant advantage now lies in his possession of Prof. Carolina herself. 

Cyrus’ shadowy hand, larger than her head alone, slithers in movements inappropriate for a limb around Prof. Carolina’s torso, the long, spindly fingers covering her now-stilted face. The other limb – no less ghostly or fearsome-looking than the first – reaches down to the bloodied sleeve in a threatening emphasis. The rip that is the ghost’s mouth stretches and widens, recognizable to being a triumphant grin of someone who has the last laugh. 

_“You cannot win. I have her. I have –”_

If her previous bleeding has been staked to stay the defenders, even Cyrus himself had failed to foresee what comes next. 

The retching happens first – shocking all those present, even Cyrus – though nothing but air and dripping saliva come out of Prof. Carolina’s mouth before she suddenly falls to her knees although Cyrus’ shadow remains where he is despite their previous movements seemingly interconnected to one another. Though the defenders react with outrage at first – Cynthia going so far as leaving her hideout before she is stopped by a hold to the arm by Prof. Rowan – it becomes evident to them that Prof. Carolina’s sickness this time is not his doing – not, at least, directly, for Cyrus is himself frantic, as can be seen in the shimmering form and ugly grimace contorting his immaterial visage. 

_“Useless!”_ He screams, rage and frustration blending together in his no-longer smug voice. _“What good you’ll serve if you cannot stand being a host?!”_

Prof. Carolina’s illness continues unstopped despite Cyrus’ enraged attempts to apparently master the woman back into his control. There is even her own voice – the unaltered, untainted tone that is truly Prof. Carolina – can be heard as groans and muffled gasps through her dry coughs and heaves, while Cyrus lashes ineffectively to get her off her helpless kneeling. More and more, the shadowy body which represents Cyrus becomes disconnected from Prof. Carolina’s physical body, dark wraithlike roots which ground the ghost to the human disentangling from her outline one at a time until Cyrus floats above like a balloon waiting only for the right gust to blow him away, connected only by two or three stubborn strands. 

Cyrus lashes at Prof. Carolina’s face as a wicked reminder to the humans, using his shadowy hand – more claws than a humanoid hand in appearance – but the limb passes through her harmlessly, if leaving her in a momentary coughing fit as one would when inhaling smoke. 

“He’s weakening!” Brock is shouting, recognizing as well as Ash what may be a possible opening for a true advantage they have ever had since the beginning of their entrapment. “Everybody now! This is our chance!” 

Cyrus screams, only sounding fractionally human in the increasingly beastly desperation which has come to grip him in listening to the order given by Brock. In the next second, it is no longer a scream but a truly animalistic noise of a predator robbed of the prey already within his claws, a sound coming from terror so great it becomes instead a primal rage to preserve one’s existence. 

Ash is the first to recognize the danger as the ghost’s burning eyes vengefully fix themselves in Brock’s direction, scarcely seconds prior Cyrus’ resolved detachment from the sole protection of Prof. Carolina’s body as his host, the body of whom crumples unconsciously to the ground. 

If Cyrus is akin a trapped animal whose strength is enhanced by self-preservation, Ash is lent the extraordinary fortitude by the same determination as that which empowers parents to care and defend their offspring. It does not matter that he is not blood-related to Brock or any one of the humans present; he cares for them all the same, nor does he make any distinction between humans and Pokémon, no matter whom their Trainers are. Though this seems like a folly and recklessness to outsiders, it is a trait inseparable from Ash Ketchum that it becomes as if a second nature. Hence to Ash at least, there is no complex thought but the simple, irreconcilable urge to protect that makes him push himself up despite the iciness lingering in his chest when he sees Cyrus’ headlong charge towards them, utterly disregarding the myriad bombardments from the defending Pokémon although each attack seems to render his already wraith-like form more insubstantial; even giving Pikachu’s point-blank Thunderbolt an enraged howl but little else to mark the successful hit. 

Caught by surprise at the spectacle of Cyrus’s relentlessness, Pikachu would have been as vulnerable as Brock to the ghost’s revenge but Ash, fighting his weakness, shoves them both aside – just in time to save them but also putting him in direct line of Cyrus’ charge, of which he alone receives the full brunt of it. 

At first, it is as if the world’s time flow is restrained to a snail’s pace as Cyrus’ ghost disintegrates upon contact with his body. 

The world as he sees is strange, for it seems like he is looking out with two pairs of eyes imperfectly aligned with each other. Every object and person, every line and corner perceivable to Ash is faintly multi-layered like they are being viewed through lenses which are minutely out of synch, creating effects like afterimages; then, his and the second vision drift closer together and meld with each other, in the process restoring normal vision – but now with a peculiar blue-and-purple tinges. 

In the next second, as the ghost’s fluid outline reforms itself to Ash’s frame and in the process, regains a semblance of substantiality like a heavy blanket of fog, if fog the colour of night rather than white. Ash is aware of the intensifying coldness where he is formerly struck, but the pained scream he expects to make never comes. His mouth opens but his vocal cord twitches ineffectively, producing a croak which is immediately silenced against his will. 

He means himself to move but his limbs will not obey. 

He can feel his lips splitting in a wide grin though he does not remember wanting to do so, for the headache has returned with a vengeance. 

  


*

  


_Ash is, suddenly and inexplicably, no longer in that shadow-covered world, where terror in the form of ghost-Cyrus has returned to menace them yet again. Instead, no matter in which way he sees, there are only endless, starless night to meet his eyes… broken by the huge, iron-like coils of some serpentine creature which is now holding him tightly in its fatal, rib-crushing embrace._

-I will not be Confined again, _a deep voice, tinted with angry growls in every syllable, declares but the source is indiscernible. The voice fills his ears and mind and heart, reverberating in the space where nothing but its deathly coils exist, suffocating him in more ways than water filling a man’s drowning lungs the tighter it constricts around him._

 _The moment it speaks too, is the moment Ash realizes that the skull-splitting headache has followed him from the shadow-world of Cyrus’ making and into this place… wherever this place is._

-I remember you, boy… Fate has brought you back to me. 

_The head which is now lowered from an unseen height to the level of Ash’s eyes is not at all a match to the body of the endless, space-filling coils. For though there are hints of a reptilian thing to its body, the face before Ash’s eyes possesses a wide mouth which houses dozens of sharp teeth which are too huge and too many, stretching the lipless maw into an eternal grin, though anything but happiness is reflected in those cruel visage. A pair of huge, oxen horns protrude from the sides of its head, atop which grows a lush of purplish hair which is tied into a high-rising lock. Most terrible of all of its features however, are those eyes – aglow and alive as Arceus’ red-burning ones in that long-lost time of its wrath._

_The headache comes to its peak then. It is like something has gone nova in his skull, searing the inside of his head with pain untold by words. Here, in this unknown world and hugged in the unrelenting snake-like body, Ash can scream – and he does, his throat raw and his eyes sting with hot tears. He screams long and hard but nobody listens to him – nobody but this creature which takes on the face of Unbound Hoopa, save for the eyes which hold a wild hunger which Ash has not seen in the eyes of the little Hoopa Confined._

_Through this unbearable pain, his lost memories trickle back into remembrance, each moment a drip into the glass of his thought-bearing mind. It fills his head slowly but steadily, unrelenting despite his agony that he waits only for the blessed unconsciousness to bear him away…_

_But he is awake, and before his eyes his lost memories flash in rapid successions, running backwards from the most recent to older ones. There are many of these, too many for him to discern individually even if he should stay and watch for months or years, but some holds more prominence in their various ways, enough for him to latch onto:_

A golden pillar of light, breaking through the gloom of gathering stormclouds. Arceus hovered in the sky above them for a moment, its glow brighter even that the glare of the desert-sun. Arceus was unmoving as it surveyed the ravaged land where Dahara Tower once stood – and then it strode away to disappear among the clouds. The numerous Legendary Pokémon – displaced from their times and places and summoned here by the powers of both Hoopas – too followed suit and vanished from their sights. 

Baraz and Hoopa Confined emerged from the other side of the ring, the latter pulling the former through the hoop-portal seconds before it was closed, safe and unharmed and untouched by the wave of reality decay which consumed Dahara Tower. The ancient building had not been as fortunate as Alamos Town… 

The tower stood but only barely; already half-crumbled, waiting only the definitive blows to bring it to its knees. The sky crackled maddeningly with thunders. Arches of lightning forked through the dark sky heavily blotched with equally dark storm clouds while an eerie shimmering glow grew and spread about voraciously, like rising tides engulfing all in their paths under the watery depths; eating away at bricks, rocks, stone tiles, even the very space in its passing, dissolving them all into glittery particles which blew away on unseen wind, never to be reformed again… 

The vision of Arche Valley. He had never been there but Hoopa Confined had lived there all through its ‘imprisonment’, and the wonderful vista of golden fields and a village among the mountains were shown to him in his mind – and the other being which had lurked within screamed rage and nonsense. 

He saw an anxious Hoopa Confined hovering before him. Pikachu prowled at his feet restlessly and the words he spoke to them were not what he thought… 

The choking hold of the powers of Hoopa on his mind. Even though the Prison Bottle caged its essence, its powers had grown conscience of its own and birthed hatred separate from the Hoopa Confined. Its malicious spirit radiated out of it and caught Ash in its grasp when his fingers touched the bottle, flesh against glass; the sensations he felt then was the same as what he feels now – 

_“Shadow… of Hoopa…” Ash gasps. It does not seem that he draws breath at all in this strange unending place, somehow, but still his crushed torso is struggling to manage any speech at all._

_Call it an intuition, but Ash suspected that not all of Hoopa’s malevolent spirit was cleansed after all. A fraction of it must have escaped the penultimate reunion with the original Hoopa, thus restoring it to its Unbound Forme. That which had resisted absorption must have bided its time all these while, in utmost secrecy building its energy to rebel as it once had when trapped in the Prison Bottle for hundreds of years – history repeating itself._

-And you… you should have been mine then, _the Shadow snaps, teeth gritting together and making a deeply discordant sound that causes uncomfortable tingles all throughout Ash’s body._ -I shouldn’t be restrained. I shouldn’t be tamed. I am the Shadow of Hoopa, greater than all mortals, wiser than the Eldest, mightier than the Outer Giants! I am without compare – and that Confined- _runt_ took them all from me! 

_“We… we weren’t trying to tame you – we’re trying to help! You shouldn’t be destroying or - or killing –”_

-You’re more foolish than Baraz – curse his name! I am the Master of my Fate and the living Legends. I could call them from anywhere and they would fight at my whims! Even the people praised and sang to my glory! _The Shadow’s anger manifests in a writhing purple-red Aura possessing of bone-biting chill, crawling across Ash’s skin and parching his mouth and throat._ -You have no right to tell me. You’re nothing more but a nuisance! 

_Ash fights to open his mouth and speak; to deny the accusation and hopefully ease the blind rage which has consumed the Shadow of Hoopa. Perhaps it is not yet too late to mend the enraged Pokémon… “I couldn’t have agreed more, Shadow of Hoopa.”_

_One section of the snake-like coil in front of Ash bulges grotesquely. There is no mouth or other orifice to have accounted for the voice, yet it seems to Ash that the voice does indeed speak from the fleshy, squirming distension – and how it grows! Very soon what was once a lump roughly the size of a human’s head develops into a something taller than Ash. Nauseating to watch as the purple-greyish hump bloats, it becomes a horrifying scene once it buds off from the main body by clinching itself at the bottom so very tightly, like a lump of malleable clay being extremely twisted will separate into two pieces. The transformation does not stop there either – Once detached, the formless blob begins to take a humanoid shape. It is like watching a pair of invisible hands sculpting features onto the globule until it is undeniably clear that the individual who towers over the tightly-wrapped Ash is Cyrus._

_Well, the_ face _is Cyrus. The rest of his body, while recognizably hominoid, is like the works of a sculptor who has grown tired of his project. Though clothless, Cyrus cannot be said to be naked, not when he is missing details like feet with conjoined toes and incomplete hands which lacks two or more fingers than the normal five for each._

_He is also huge. Nowhere near the gigantic manifestation of the Shadow of Hoopa, but still larger and taller than an average human. If Ash is to stand beside him, he will only reach below his chest._

_“Indeed he is a nuisance – but a beneficial nuisance, I should say,” he says, a hint of satisfaction in his lazy drawl. “Tonio was too fragile to reside for long. We shouldn’t have bothered with Alice, not with that mad Darkrai around… but you, Ash. You are perfect to replace Carolina.”_

_Cyrus’ sunken eyes hold some hints of his human origin in them but the blood-red pupils unnerve what shred of comfort left for Ash. Stubbornly, though recognizing the likely folly of his boldness, Ash forces himself to bear his piercing gaze and lock his eyes to his._

_“It has been a while, Ash. A long, long while… You have no idea what it is like to be trapped outside of Earth.” It is painful to maintain eye-contact, but there, finally, Ash notices the same overwhelming hunger which the Shadow of Hoopa has stared at him. Remembering the glee exhibited Cyrus-possessed Prof. Carolina in discovering that the three Vassals of the Lake Guardians are gathered together, Ash cannot help but shudder with revulsion and avert his eyes._

_A pair of hands, possessing only four fingers on each and nail-less on every digit, frames Ash’s face gently, even fondly, lifting him up so that he is left with no choice but to meet Cyrus’ gaze._

_“It is ironic that I, who abhors emotions and sentimentality, am nevertheless consumed by it. In this sense, I have failed my goal.” The edges of his mouth turn down to form a scowl which has looked so permanent on his face when he was still a living, breathing, bodied human. “You and your stupid friends thought that ‘love’ and ‘friendship’ will answer everything… but I find that anger is much more beneficial. It drives me. It enables me to persevere even when my body has long died. To reflect that success was only a breath away… and to find yourself denied your purpose – it was an exquisite torture.”_

-He was in league with Baraz and Meray against me, _the Shadow of Hoopa growls from behind the Ketchum._ -I should rid of this brat quickly. We shall have a feast – there is so much Aura in him!

_Its constriction becomes tighter but a look from Cyrus is apparently an understandable gesture to the spirit of the Pokémon, who promptly relaxes its body only so Ash is not lost in the crushing pain._

_“Yes. You, Ash Ketchum, had thwarted us both. Palkia and Dialga too; they may look like mere beasts but they have the most cunning minds. If Shadow of Hoopa had not found me, I would never have escaped their prison. What remains of its powers broke me out and empowered me in my mission – in return, I became the half it has lost…”_

_Ash has no delusion that he may escape from their grasp as Cyrus has escaped his jail, or worse, if the ravenous look they impart upon him is indication to what they have in mind for him. He is scared, as a human with a proper instinct should be, but Ash cannot fight the burst of anger at Cyrus’ self-righteousness. Has he not learnt something, anything at all, in his punishment? Ash is absolutely baffled by how cunning and clueless a person can be at the same time, or how Cyrus can mingle such short-sightedness in his grand ambitions._

_“You’re mad, Cyrus! If the world is flawed, it is not because of emotions; it’s people like you who ruined it! Dialga and Palkia were just defending us – defending Earth!”_

_The scowl instantly deepens. His eyes bulge so much that they counteract the natural concaveness of his face, making outlandish caricatures of his serious expression._

_“You’ll never understand,” Cyrus hisses while the Shadow of Hoopa, reacting with the same anger at Ash’s audacity, growls into his ears warningly. Cyrus shakes his head; again showing something close to remorse in that gesture. “No matter. We only need your Aura – and your friends’ as well – to feed us. We will seek the Legendary Pokémon themselves, once we have grown strong enough to feed on them! Then – Then, their powers will be ours instead, and my perfect world shall come true after all…”_

_A nod from Cyrus, the coils tighten around him – a wall of muscles relentlessly closing down upon him until Ash can do no more than gasp, despite the fear and agony he is suffering under his captors’ hungry and expectant stare._

  


*

  


Under Brock’s command, the Serperior has Dawn and Newton clamber upon his back and transport them to safety, where Cynthia, Prof. Rowan, Tonio and Alice have taken to hiding. Admittedly it is not a proper shelter, with only collections of half-crumbled structures, stone pillars and unidentifiable slabs as their covers, but these are much better than the open space they have occupied and nearer to many other Pokémon to help with their protection. The lull has also enabled the Garchomp to rescue Prof. Carolina, carefully picking and carrying the unconscious woman back to their midst in her arms where Cynthia quickly set to examine once she is deposited on the ground. 

As for Brock himself, he refuses to move an inch away from Ash’s side, a stance steadfastly adopted by the equally anxious Pikachu. 

It will be a lie to say that Brock is not frightened. It is just that his fear is overruled by the greater worry for his friend – nothing encouraging could have been said when Ash’s body, crumpled and doubled over himself, is wreathed in a shadowy emanations which have previously enveloped Prof. Carolina under Cyrus’ possession. However, collapsing after taking Cyrus’ charge intended for him, Ash has yet moved from his foetal curling on the ground, his arms tightly wrapped about himself as if to contain whatever it is in his body from escaping its confinement. 

He may have died at a first glance. Ash’s breathing is slowed and faint to the point the rise and fall of his chest are almost imperceptible. His eyes are wide but unresponsive to any movement Brock has attempted in front of his face, dilated and staring lifelessly into a horizon nobody else can perceive. 

“Ash,” Brock whispers; his hands grasp the shoulders to shake, shuddering as the unusual stiffness reminds him of a fish left dead for too long, “Ash – Damn it, Ash! Stay with us!” 

The Pikachu’s distressed wails are heart-breaking sounds Brock have heard coming from other Pokémon before in the course of his caretaking training, but ones which always make him wish for deafness. The Pokémon frantically paws into the Trainer’s arms and nuzzles the pallid cheeks and, failing to garner any reaction, begins to clamber over the rigid body, racing back and forth to tug at the sleeve of his shirt, at the edge of his jeans, at the messes of his hair… 

Dawn’s appearance, dropping to her knees beside Brock, is unexpected but wholly welcomed. The Croagunk and Ash’s Feraligatr are with her, their attentions having brought back to their Trainers after the chaos of their attacks; their heavy breaths signal the urgency with which they have raced back to them. 

“Brock.” Dawn reaches out with her weak, trembling hands to touch the Ketchum’s face. Her fingers are tremulous as they stroke his cheek and the corners of his unblinking eyes. “…what happened? I didn’t – I didn’t realize, I was just –” 

“Cyrus,” Brock says but finds that further explanation eludes him. The tightness in his chest makes speaking that much more difficult. He says instead, “I can’t get him to wake up. He’s not responding to anything!” 

To a degree, Dawn seems to understand him. Perhaps she too has been forced through similar catatonia when Cyrus was still holding her and Newton hostage. However, neither of them knows how best to proceed and help their friend, hanging their hope solely on the fact that Ash is still breathing, however weakly he seems to do so. Brock has learnt a few vital first-aid treatments as a supplement to his career, but none of the techniques seems to be helpful in the situation they are now forced into. Ash’s Feraligatr and Brock’s Croagunk prudently hang back, sensing the tensed air about the humans, but Pikachu actually growls warningly when they try to coax him away from the Ketchum that they resign Pikachu to himself. 

It is thus a chest-blooming elation to see Ash finally stirring from his stupor, first by drawing his first deep breath before lifting his head to better perceive both Brock and Dawn bending above him. For the first time they can see life and focus returning into his brown-eyed gaze, though tugging at his arms, Brock discovers that the limbs are resisting his attempts to unfold them. 

“Ash, t-thank goodness!” Dawn cups her hands on the sides of Ash’s face, drawing his eyes to her and very nearly cries herself out of happiness. “We thought – we couldn’t wake you up, at all –” 

Her relieved outburst stops abruptly. For in looking into Ash’s eyes, she realizes that there is fear and tension in them that she cannot understand. Ash is looking at each of them – firstly at Dawn, being closest to him, then at Pikachu who is jostling for a space to nuzzle his cheek and finally, at Brock who hovers closely behind them – as if he beholds enemies rather than friends. 

_“Pika-chu…?”_ A soft paw rests on his cheek, inquiring what Pikachu cannot ask verbally. 

“Pikachu… you’ve got to go.” His lips barely move. The whisper might have been easily passed over as the confused rambling of a newly-awakened man, but the intense concentrations in his wide-eyed stare says otherwise. “…I can’t hold them for long. Take Pikachu… take my Pokémon and the others… bring them with you. Find a way out. They’ll come out soon and they’ll hunt you down. They are starving.” 

“No, Ash. We’re not going to leave anyone behind –” 

“You have to.” It is no longer a plea, not with the fierceness with which he says this. However, his friends know that it is spoken from fear rather than anger, they way his eyes scrunch together and his mouth tightening in grimace. “They will move on to others when they’ve done with me.” 

Brock’s hands clutch Ash’s shoulders with the iron-strength of a Staraptor’s talons, turning Ash’s attention away from Dawn. “You said ‘they’. Who else…?” 

“…You don’t know the Shadow of Hoopa.” 

Having said these, Ash’s eyes roll back into their sockets, momentarily leaving nothing but complete, eerie whites in the place of his pupils. Fearing that they have lost him yet again, Brock, Dawn and Pikachu crowd around him more closely, doing their best to bring the Ketchum back among their midst. 

Instead, when Ash regains a focused look, they know that staring from behind the brown eyes is no longer their friend. 

_“I pity you all, sentimental fools,”_ Ash says but the voice is not entirely his own. The hoarseness is Cyrus’; in the same way Prof. Carolina was recognizable in her speech but has been tainted by the ghost’s rasp. _“He’d fought bravely to give you a chance only to be wasted.”_

Like a startled Liepard, Brock backs off with an arm stretched out protectively in front of Dawn, ushering her and the other Pokémon to retreat. Pikachu gives out a pitiful bark, though he obeys Brock’s hushed, yet urgent commands all the same, recognizing the risks if he should proceed with his stubbornness, especially after hearing Ash’s frantic warning. Cold sweats break over Brock’s skin, his eyes sharp and his muscles strung out in readiness for action even though Ash’s puppeteered movements look sluggish as he unfolded himself from his crouch. If anything, it will seem likely that as time goes, Cyrus will be adapted to his new home to be much more manoeuvrable with Ash’s body. After all, Prof. Carolina’s conducts had been entirely unsuspicious under Cyrus’ occupation, lasting as long as it is, beginning perhaps since Tonio’s ailment which was when she showed her first sign of mysterious bouts of sickness. 

As for now, little can they do but to wait and watch Ash Ketchum’s body coming to his feet. Even now his gestures look a little better and more neutral when he sweeps away the shadowy, ground-covering fog which has clung to his arm in a manner one would to dirt soiling one’s body. 

_“Now then,”_ he says matter-of-factly, _“we’re back where we have started. Nothing changes. Resisting will only prolong the inevitable.”_

Brock opens his mouth, his retort ready to burst forth – whatever that may be because his thoughts are muddled and driven by warring emotions – but it ultimately left unsaid, borne away by the unexplained change around them. It is in the air, mostly, as the hairs on their skin begin to stand on end and invisible fingers crawl across their skin, leaving tingles of static electricity in their wake. The shadow-fog cloaking the ground churns as seas are roiled in storms, though if there is one inbound nothing can be perceived by their eyes. Though at first their assumptions lay the blame on Cyrus, the face of the possessed Ketchum reveals only befuddlement and, if one cares to look closely enough, a deep-seated fear that Ash does not share with the profoundly systematic Cyrus: a fear for things which have gone out of one’s control, no matter how meticulously and diligently one has worked to see success. 

Dawn, out of instinct, sweeps the Pikachu off and holds her close to his chest protectively, struggling against the Pokémon’s pitiful barks and wiggling to go after Ash, murmuring words into those long, flattened ears without knowing exactly what is being said. The nearest cover is at a worrying distance, so Brock shields her as best as he can as Dawn is doing to the Pikachu, an act that Croagunk, Feraligatr and Dawn’s newly-arrived Empoleon shoulder themselves in regards to the humans. 

As far as anyone can remember, they have not felt wind here ever since they have been kidnapped to Cyrus’ shadow-world. Thus it strikes them with nerve-shocking intensity at first as the dampness and heat of the still air is replaced by a sudden gust that sweeps around the place, its origin indiscernible, sweeping the shadow-fog around and around in its passing. 

_“What now?!”_

They can hear Cyrus’ voice shouting amidst the thin whistling of the wind, which grows only stronger the more they wait for it to abate. If previously Cyrus has been angered and fearful, they have been for the identified outcomes should he fail to find himself a new host after Prof. Carolina; now, it seems that he is transfixed to be facing with things unknown to him, right after his first crisis has been averted. For all his cool calculations and manipulative schemes, there is only so much one can take the pressure before one fall after another will begin to take its toll. The wind eventually gathers into a vortex where Ash has been standing; suddenly realizing that it has become the centre of activity for one reason or another, none of which he quite understands, he steers Ash into a panicked retreat. Ash stumbles on an unseen obstacle, perhaps a rock, and he falls backwards with a painful-sounding thump but his eyes remain fixed to his front, Cyrus’ fear growing as the maelstrom develops. 

Suddenly, the eye of the vortex erupts, birthing ribbons of multi-coloured lights: blue, green, yellow, red and more shimmering into existence, writhing like living things… a chromatic antithesis to Cyrus’ shadow-tentacles he has used upon the humans not too long a while ago. Light – blessed, warm, illuminating – spills forth from unseen source into the shadow-world, reminding the watching humans of the golden sunlight which have been denied of them and they revel in the comfort of its familiarity and homeliness. For Cyrus though, there is nothing delighting to be found in the light as he scutters back desperately from the intensifying light, as well as the massive, four-legged figure it cloaks. 

The defenders are initially unaware of it, relieved enough as they are to be bathed again in light, noticing only Cyrus’ distress at the progression. As a long leg steps out from the centre of the light, itself softly radiant in the same shade of gold, the humans are brought to watch avidly as an unusual creature comes forth from the swirling, light-bathed whirlpool. The second leg is accompanied with a long neck that ends in a head that drags behind it a smoothly tapering projection. A body follows suit, then the back legs, and lastly, the tail – all culminating together into the Alpha Pokémon Arceus. They are simply astonished by the presence of a Legendary Pokémon at first, unlooked for and unimagined in their wildest dreaming, even cautiously optimistic of its coming; then they notice the smidgen of red on its face, a colour that is out of place amongst the golds and whites conspicuous on the body, and realize suddenly that the unusual eyes – attuned squarely upon Ash not a few steps away from its legs – are _smouldering_ with wrath. 

Brock shivers and, in his arms, so does Dawn and Pikachu. For they do not forget the unquenchable flame in the Original One’s eyes as it levelled down Michina in that time which no longer exists except in their minds. 


	22. Judgement Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When push comes to shove...

At some point in her life, Cynthia had decided to move and take permanent residence in the region of Sinnoh. Though her grandmother has made herself a home and career there, her family has not hailed from the region; but her hard works and passion has earned her a place as Sinnoh’s formidable Trainer and Champion of the League, almost a permanent fixture in the Pokémon -battling scene in the Lily of the Valley Conference. Parts of her decision to call Sinnoh her home has been because of her love for the Pokémon, where the vast and varied region has plenty to offer; the other part is attributable to her other interest in the myths and legends which crops up all the time in Prof. Carolina’s researches. 

Sinnoh’s Legendary Pokémon are peculiarly reserved and prominent at the same time. The statues, folklores and curious artefacts tell of powerful Pokémon held as deities to the ancient people, but the Pokémon themselves are painfully elusive. Cynthia has thus made seeing the Lake Guardians and the trio of Space-Time-Antimatter Pokémon as her dream, but the holy grail of her myth-cracking will be the one Legendary Pokémon that is only cryptically alluded to in what few sources there are: Arceus the Original One. 

Now though, Cynthia is equally overwhelmed by awe and dread in the same breath as the Alpha Pokémon strides out of its shining portal. She wonders why it is that to witness Legendary Pokémon with her own eyes always places her in context where she cannot derive as much pleasure as she has imagined. The captured Lake Guardians and Red Chains-bound Dialga and Palkia were too saddening to watch, and now… 

Truth to be told, despite having Prof. Carolina lying unconscious in front of her and her bandaged arm stained red from the seeping blood, despite Tonio groaning in the background to stave off the pain in his injured calf, despite these and more signs of the atrocities committed, it is difficult not to feel the tiniest bit of sympathy in watching Ash half-sprawled on the ground on his back, his face running through unpleasant emotions from confusion to anger and fear. His mouth is clamped shut that the lips turn bloodlessly pale; his eyes wide and animalistic, though Ash’s natural brown are superimposed with inhuman crimson tinges. Having known Cyrus in life and witnessing his (mostly) measured conducts through the people he possessed, Cynthia can safely assume that he remains as one who is not easily frightened, making his unbound reactions now far more chilling to witness with the knowledge. 

If Cynthia is in Ash’s place right now, perhaps she would have been just as scared out of her wits, if not more so. Arceus’ eyes upon him are pertinaciously unsympathetic, the light of its rage freezing the watchers to where they are. There is more than just psychological fear at work in Arceus’ unblinking gaze which curtails the watchers’ movements despite their instincts screaming for release. 

Arceus does not have to move. It simply strikes unwarned. 

Appearing like a golden clone to one of Cyrus’ offensive vines, this one erupts from the soft glow of Arceus’ abdominal ring. It is far, far faster though; belting out in a wind-rush as quick as an Extreme Speeding Arcanine and the aura it is composed of appears much more solid as to seem like a thin fabric more than light. As soon as it reaches Ash, the end of the beam flares open like disproportionately huge mouth, engulfing Ash in a shimmering cocoon seemingly weaved from golden threads. 

“Ash!” Dawn screams, her voice standing out among the quieter gasps of the other watchers. While Pikachu is perhaps shocked into stillness, the girl tries to wriggle herself free from Brock’s shielding embrace. 

However, her struggles are halted by the slight tilt of Arceus’ head, thereby placing a gaze from one of its eyes – and all the weight of the quiet wrath boiling therein – upon her. Simply seeing it being enacted on Dawn makes Cynthia winces while ice runs rampant in her body, spreading fear into bones and settling into her heart like a coin tossed into a well. Dawn, trembling so severely that it is visible even from where Cynthia is observing, loses her voice, tears slipping down from the corners of her eyes before her legs sag under her. She collapses back into Brock’s arms, sobbing quietly and daring herself to take only occasional peeks from within his embrace. Once some of her strengths and composure return, Brock tugs her and their other Pokémon to a retreat behind a stone mast a few steps back. 

Dawn is at least fortunate to have the one-eyed gaze only momentarily fixed upon her, or to have another comfort her. No such relief is available for Cyrus, having now regained voice while Arceus is distracted by Dawn, and wails brokenly through Ash’s mouth which opens a little too wide as to be unsettling to look at. He utters no understandable word but the voice he makes needs no interpretation of the horror and pain he suffers through right now. 

The faint pulsations surfing through the light-sphere imprisoning Ash instantly silences the Ketchum and the ghost who haunts him. However, the bulge of his eyes speaks of added agony rather than relief. Crouched on all fours now, struggling to even lift his chin enough to look at Arceus’ face, Cyrus shouts, _“I… if you harm me, you would harm him too…!”_

_-A threat? Impressive… but foolish._ It is a low rumble but spoken with that hint of a warning that its patience is being dangerously tried. _-Do you think that you will find protection in his body? That I am so weak to be rendered helpless by your cheap tricks?_

If anybody else is as startled as Cynthia upon hearing Arceus’ voice entering her mind as smoothly as her ears, the others must have been startled into silence as well. Perhaps in different contexts, the rather dulcet tone would have been pleasant to listen to. For now though, it bleeds anger and contempt towards the ghostly Cyrus in the barely-there rasps peppering its speech, like someone talking when all he wants to do is to throw out his fist. The pressure of a sudden grip on her upper arm finally draws Cynthia’s eyes away from the Alpha Pokémon; Alice has apparently crouched the short distance from the adjacent shelter of a wide rocky protrusion (it looks like a pillar which has been broken almost all the way down); her face reads fear all over. 

“That Pokémon –” 

“It’s the Legendary Pokémon, Arceus.” Cynthia wants to continue and say that the Pokémon is a danger only to Cyrus, her expression being so pitiful to watch, but finds that her reassurances will not come out easily. She cannot in confidence say that they will not be caught in the collateral damages, even if Arceus does not specifically target the rest of them. 

“We have to do something.” Her speech is stuttered and her voice low, making comprehending her rather difficult with Cyrus’ moans overlaying the background silence. “This… entity you called Cyrus. I’ve talked to Tonio and we agreed that we’ve met him before, in a way. It was in Alamos – he was trying to take over Tonio and me but Darkrai drove him back. Brock was there too.” 

As shocking as it is to hear Darkrai interacting positively with others, Cynthia knows to expect better from this particular Pitch-Black Pokémon. Cynthia has heard from Prof. Carolina before of the aforementioned Darkrai making the garden in Alamos Town its home, co-existing as best as could be hoped with the other inhabitants and occasional visitors. However, listening about Cyrus’ presence there and the fact that Darkrai has warded off his attempts on Tonio and Alice are rather astonishing. 

Then again, Cyrus’ ever-persistent composure actually vanishes the moment Arceus makes its appearance… 

Can it be? Is Cyrus afraid of Legendary Pokémon, for whatever reasons? If not afraid, he’s making efforts to avoid confronting them… 

“What are you trying to say, Alice?” 

“Darkrai was being careful with me – well, as careful as it could be, anyway. Cyrus got me then, just a brush, but it’s – _it still hurt.”_ Her eyes become glazed with memories of those moments but she shakes herself out of them as soon as Cynthia touches her shoulder. “If this Pokémon is after Cyrus, it might not care what happen to the Ash.” 

Cynthia wants to disagree, but really, who can tell with certainty how a Legendary Pokémon thinks, especially one who has seen generations of people come and go in just a tiny slice of its lifetime? It may not be cruelty in Arceus’ perspective, not because it is inherently wicked – Cynthia is a firm believer that the so-called ‘bad’ Pokémon is only so as far as people make them – but it is just very likely that a long life has desensitized the Alpha Pokémon to destructions. One life in exchange for Cyrus’ end, for whatever purposes Arceus pursues the goal, may seem like a worthwhile bargain, as can be seen in the Pokémon’s fury… 

She hates to think in such pessimistic light. On the other hand, she has no way of knowing better. 

“We’ve got to keep faith,” Cynthia replies eventually. She has grown her own beliefs in Pokémon since the day she has first known Pokémon, and has them tested again and again. Now, of all time, is not the moment to let herself waver. 

Interrupted by the unsettling sounds of chest-emptying coughs, Cynthia and Alice have their attentions returned to Arceus, Ash and Cyrus. A fleeting sense of déjà vu flutters in Cynthia’s chest because similar fits have preceded Prof. Carolina’s release from Cyrus’ grip. In Ash’s case, however, Ash’s body seems to suffer tremendously compared to her grandmother’s ordeal, the retches looking like his body is going to turn out his innards. If Ash Ketchum has any way at all to sense his body through Cyrus’ possession, it must have been torturing to be forced through the hacking spells. Before Cynthia could attempt to stop or giving her advice, Alice is running out of her cover and towards the Alpha Pokémon. Tonio yells after her as well, though the injuries in his leg quickly devolves his shouts into pained hisses the moment he tries to put his weight on them. From the pocket of her travelling coat, she produces something rectangular, slim in its breadth and almost as long as her palm, which she then puts to her lips and blows. 

A harmonica, Cynthia realizes, as a shrill yet mournful tune whistles out from the instrument. The melody feels like it is speaking to her, somehow, telling her of things wondrous yet mysterious, a harmony of sounds and fantasy. Even in this shadow-world, confronted by an enemy beyond imagining and seeing casualties of the fight in the people and Pokémon around her, the song instils a sense of peace and hope beyond her description. Cynthia has no knowledge of what is being played, though she has her assumptions from the tales she have heard from Sinnoh people; nor does she know the full arrangement of the song, though Alice may not even reach the end of the first verse before she is interjected. 

_-Oración,_ Arceus says, giving confirmation to Cynthia’s reluctant assumptions. _-The prayer to soothe raging hearts…_

Alice lowers the harmonica from her mouth. She maintains eye contact when Arceus tips its head sideways to peer at the blonde, though it is obvious that to remain upright and coherent is a struggle under the Legendary Pokémon’s attention. 

“M… my name is Alice,” she says, as loudly and clearly as her sputtering allows. “Please, I – we – beg your mercy. We’ve no love for Cyrus, but that man he’s possessing… he’s our friend.” 

_-And you fear for Ash’s sake,_ Arceus concludes. Despite the persistent glows in its crimson pupils, one can see a curious hint of something else – something very much like sadness or regret – being reflected in those eyes. _-You should not have feared. I can never harm him._

Cynthia finds the choice of words… interesting, to say the least. More is being spoken than what is uttered, of that she has no doubt, but exactly what remains elusive, as is the motivation behind Arceus’ abrupt participation. With a toss of its head, Arceus clearly dismisses Alice to bring its interrupted attention back to the still-kneeling Ash in the golden light cocoon, now gasping like oxygen is limited commodity to him and with his arm crossed to hold his sides. The light shimmers around him as Arceus drifts closer; Ash’s face is a picture of someone who is holding on but finding that the rope in his hand is slipping no matter how tight his grip on it. 

_-I am tempted to be rid of you both right now,_ Arceus rumbles, again suffusing its speech with that promise of suffering no mortals hope to experience. _-But I was once given a second chance. Now, I offer the same to you. Refuse and it will be at your own peril._

A wordless noise from Ash; a sound like a cough that is not released. It means virtually nothing to the watching humans and Pokémon but to Arceus, it is apparently sufficient for a reply. 

_-Cyrus, there is nothing more for you in this life. My Aura will burn you should you try to flee now but if you leave the boy unharmed, I will let you find your peace._

For nearly a whole minute, Arceus remains attentively silent but nothing more than a few meaningless grunts meet the Pokémon’s waiting. Though facially expressionless, Cynthia can still recognize regret in the drooping of its shoulders and the faint shaking of its head, the motion which is amplified further by the gentle undulations of the extension on its head. 

_-I know you are here as well, Shadow of Hoopa,_ Arceus is saying next, _-Cyrus can never be the completion which you seek. It is with Hoopa, in Arche Valley and the siblings who have cared for you. Hoopa itself has grown whole through the years but they will still receive you with open arms, if you only repent._

More silence. 

This time, the stillness is longer and more intense, the tension which seeps into the atmosphere and weighs down upon the watchers as heavily as it does on Arceus and Ash. Equally shocked and baffled in hearing that Hoopa is here with them, Cynthia exchanges a brief glance with Prof. Rowan and Newton sharing refuges behind a stone slab a few yards away, who return a similarly confused look at her. All three of them have heard of Hoopa, of course, but the way it is addressed indicates that whoever Shadow of Hoopa is, it is not always interchangeable with the Kalosian genie of Legend. 

It feels like an hour’s worth of waiting though her watch only clocks about five passing minutes. By then Alice has gone back to Tonio who receives her with a hug and anxious whispers. Then, quite out of the blue – 

_-Ash…?_

Ash’s head is lifting though the movement is wooden and laborious. The brown eyes looking into Arceus’ red-and-green are wide and desperate but there is no mistaking that the soul behind it is Ash Ketchum. A glistening at the corner of his eye escapes, becoming a trail of tear that slips down his cheek. On weak, jittery arms which he painfully unfolds, Ash tries to push himself up but manages to lift only his torso before re-collapsing back to the ground, stirring dark dust as he falls. 

“Arceus…” Half-sprawled, trembling all over and wheezing horrendously with every inhalation, Ash forces his arms to straighten, this time managing to prop himself up just enough to view the Pokémon towering above him. “Please…” 

Wondering and perplexed by the sudden, low thrumming noise that comes out of nowhere, the watchers are startled to discover that its source is none other than the Alpha Pokémon itself. A whimper almost, though one so low in its pitch that it reverberates through the body rather than heard. It is a far cry from the growls which up until now have permeated the Original One’s speech. When the sound finally resolves into words, what Arceus is saying are, _-Ash, I am here now. Please, do not falter. Just hold on…_

It is a strange thing to experience, following immediately the threats made to the ghost of Cyrus – and, apparently, to this Shadow of Hoopa as well, though for the life of her Cynthia cannot say for sure who and what is referred to as such. Granted, Arceus’ reactions are still relatively collected but compared to the placid anger which it has displayed throughout its appearance, seeing its head flinging about like an agitated Tauros is still a jarring contrast. Equally peculiar is the reactions Ash is giving to being in the presence of the Legendary Pokémon – Cyrus is downright terrified but if this momentarily unpossessed Ash seems scared, somehow Cynthia is doubtful that his is caused by the same reason as Cyrus. 

“Please save –,” Ash is struggling to speak through his heavy breathing and coughing, each sentence being punctuated with gasps, “…save my friends. Cyrus and Shadow Hoopa – they’re not backing off…!” 

_-Neither am I,_ Arceus retorts, almost snarling the words out. Another head-toss: a gesture equal parts defiant and anxious. 

“They won’t listen!” He says for the last time, coughing the words out from the depth of his lungs where there is still some air left, and then Ash is screaming; screaming so loud like he intends to scrape his throat raw, a blood-curdling noise from a mouth opened so wide it seems he will rip his skin. Drool spills from the corner of his mouth and his eyes are bulging and streaming rivulets of tears. As he does so, the golden sphere around him bloats grotesquely and pulses with bright silvery light every now and then. Inside it, where Ash is still screaming and writhing on the ground, a dark layer of shadow pervades out from his skin to cover his body, slowly forming itself into a vague human shape – but a long grey stream emerging from behind him turns out to be a pointed tail, and a twin bump that seems initially like an imperfection to Ash’s outline grows and tapers themselves into a pair of horns. As Ash’s flailing hands grasp at his throat with the left and claw his chest with the other, they leave behind an impression of shadow-hands, solidifying into smoke-like limbs with wicked talons and powerful arms, thicker by far than Ash’s have been. 

_-Ash!_ Arceus moans – a despairing sound as heart-wrenching as Ash’s scream has been frightening – and lunges forward, the glow about its body bright but wavering, the green jewels embedded in its flank-wheel bursting with emerald fire. 

And the shadow which overlays the Ketchum screams as well the moment a mouth is formed on its face. The eyes are ruby-red, glowing like embers, but what face can be glimpsed of it resembles Cyrus if distorted so severely that he possesses instead a mouth of huge and sharp teeth; skewing the screaming voice into an ugly roar which no human throat is capable of producing, marking that part which he has given up to the Shadow of Hoopa. Though ephemeral, this incarnation of Cyrus-Hoopa is much firmer and distinct than the form it has displayed upon leaving Prof. Carolina, swaying snake-like as if before an invisible charmer. The freakishly long arms of the ghost reach down, sinking shadowy talons into Ash’s shoulders, drawing no blood but leaving its host to scream all the louder until his voice breaks abruptly into whispery rasps despite the wide-open mouth. Ash’s physical hands are gripping at his flesh so powerfully that he is mutilating himself without noticing the bruises purpling his skin and the beads of blood his fingernails have dug out from his throat, where his skin is unprotected by clothing. 

It happens fast; too fast for the humans to react properly. 

They do not see the way the ghost of Cyrus and Shadow Hoopa coils its body into itself, like someone winding a spring; or that its claws actually brace itself against the Trainer’s body. What they see is a blackish mass that suddenly slingshots out and away from Ash; that Ash’s body becomes limp at the moment, collapsing like a puppet whose strings are snipped away and leaving nothing to help it remain upright; they see the golden aura-sphere surrounding the Ketchum shimmers, releasing glittering specks where the blackish mass – the final amalgamation of Cyrus and Shadow Hoopa – has collided against its inner wall. It roars painfully as its body crumbles as paper touched to a flame, but forges on through his agony, struggling and fighting the golden bounds until its struggles reduce it to a size no larger than a Mightyena and fragile-looking as a fabric left to rot under the sun. 

What remains of this ghost glow sickly with purple and red, and with a relieved whimper of a game-beast who has escaped the hunter’s trap, it finally squeezes itself through the light-sphere and rushes away in a gust of wind, trailing the loose shadow-particles that the sphere has corroded from it, abandoning without a second thought the now-cataleptic Ash whom it has fought to claim as a host. From the other hideout where Brock, Dawn and some of the Pokémon are hiding, they are shouting urgently; Pikachu is barking and pointing at the blur of darkness – sometimes like a wind-flapped leaf, other times viscuous like oil spills – fleeing to hide and blend into the fog-shadow which creeps upon the ground. 

That is when a beam of light – shaped like a long spear, yellow-bright and iridescent – pierces through the air with a sharp wheezing noise and impales its sharpened tip into the ghost’s shadowy-oily mass before striking the ground, where the beam of light lies quivering as a shot arrow stuck fast into a wooden board. Its vine-like length is wreathed in wild flame, casting the place into an angry amber glare and driving back the shadows in which the ghost has hoped to seek safety. 

Its source is Arceus; at the origin end of the light-spear, it is connected to the Alpha Pokémon at the metal-clad forehead. Gone is the sphere which has enclosed Ash just a few seconds ago – he now lies uncontained on the ground, limbs slack, while Arceus paces around the prone Trainer in a tight circle. Nothing concerns the Original One but the young man at its feet then, not even the impaled ghost which is now yowling in a grating voice which hurts to listen to. Silently, Arceus kneels on its bent forelegs, bringing its face within inches of the human’s and bathing Ash in contrasts of the dark shadows and the light its body exudes. The Pokémon touches his neck carefully with the tip of its forehead, nuzzles the cheek and chest, where atop it his hand lies slack after his own mindless scrabbling; even taking to bump the Ketchum’s side, all the while crooning a low note whose words it contains are lost to the watchers. In that moment, brave little Pikachu, against fear or reason or self-preservation, at last slips past Dawn, Brock and the other Pokémon. He ignores their alarmed shouts, heading straight towards Arceus and Ash in great bounds whilst the others watch in frightened amazement as Pikachu joins the Alpha Legend but unable to find in themselves to make similar approach. Pikachu’s attention is entirely upon Ash that he does not seem aware of the shouted warnings from his friends. He calls for the Trainer with increasingly pleading barks and yelps when he receives no answer, nudging the lifeless hands desperately while Arceus’ face hovers above Ash’s head, as restless as the rodent Pokémon for some relieving cues from the human. 

All these are met with silence and unshaken stillness from Ash. 

Eventually, Arceus’s crooning dwindles into silence filled only by the Pikachu’s unceasing whines. The Legend’s crimson pupils become redder and brighter throughout it all until when it rises back to its feet, the bloody light has spread beyond its irises and engulfed the surrounding green of its eyes. 

_-How dare you,_ Arceus whispers but in vitriol unmistakable to be meant as a roar. _-…HOW DARE YOU!_

Too late, the thundering bellow makes victims out of all those listening indiscriminately. Wincing and gasping, for the roar fills their ears with painful ringing that causes humans and Pokémon alike to hunch down among themselves, their hands are clasped firmly to their ears while Pikachu burrows frenetically into Ash’s chest. At the same time, their minds too are taking the effects that each of them is feeling like something sharp and long has been run through their skulls. It leaves them senseless with pain and confusion for those few seconds which seem to stretch inordinately into minutes, hours even, and then it dwindles, leaving nothing but uncomfortable throbbing in their brains to mark its occurrence. 

As the din from Arceus’ shout fades away, another sound begins to take its place in the silence the Legendary Pokémon leaves in its wake: helpless and miserable, a childish moan from the rough voices of an adult and a beast. The featureless blob of the ghost is regaining form now, shaping for itself the head of Cyrus attached to a body built like a Tauros, the arrow-tipped tail lashing out anxiously but to no effect whatsoever. The newly materialized hands grasp fruitlessly at the light-spear; searching, perhaps, for a way to break the impaling weapon or pull itself free from it, clawing at the length which it can reach and fumbling uncertainly where it disappears into its body. Under Arceus’ unrelenting glare, the ghost squirms harder in hopes to eel itself out from the pinion but in doing so, the ‘wound’ leaks a foul-smelling, tar-like substance which pools darkly under it. 

Arceus stomps its right hoof once, confidently, and the ground under its strike, bursts. 

If a volcano spews out lava and molten rocks, the punctured Earth under Arceus’ foot bleeds liquid light, the same golden colour but brighter than that which radiates off the Legendary Pokémon. It seems gaseous in one second, opaquely watery in the next in the fashion of mercury or molten metals; gleaming and shining as it emerges in streams that branch off and conjoin intermittently, like dried gulch being refilled with water as brought by the wet season’s first rain. These innumerable veins eventually grow so numerous that they meld together into a sea, levelling the terrain in its relentless advance throughout its growth – swallowing thoroughly the broken pillar, the stray rocks and stones, washing over clay slabs and plaques – and leaving behind a clear, unblemished surface, perfectly flat and reflective as a polished mirror. 

At the same time, Arceus itself is ablaze with light as dazzling as the sun until all watching eyes are forced to look away, lest they blind themselves. It is brightest at the flank-wheel, coruscating light that appears somehow tangible – the edges of it dance and writhe as tongues of flame leaping out for more fuel to burn, alive and hungering for the darkness around it. They reach out in countless vines and tendrils as thin and threads, deceptively fragile as they consume the fog-shadow they touch… and, it seems to the astonished watchers the very reality transforms in their presences. Firstly seen as a mirage, the watchers are astounded as the darkness being driven back reveals an endless blue sky above them instead of the sullen, perpetual dusk the ghost of Cyrus and Shadow Hoopa has brought upon the place. The slate clouds are likewise bleached off their gloomy hues, becoming white and perfectly ordinary as those seen on a clear sunny day. 

The transformation is inescapable. In mere seconds, the trapped humans and Pokémon find themselves no longer standing in a world dominated by fog the colour of soot and watched over by a dark sun. Where they are now is a world of peaceful sunny-day heavens, themselves reflected in the burnished, mirror-like floor, utterly flat and featureless for as far as eyes can see except for the occasional ripples where movements are made. Clouds hover in the sky but there are also a few of them drifting at ground level, thin wisps that shy away from touch when anybody makes to reach for it. 

In Cynthia’s mind, old words which she has laboriously pored over and translated from the hieroglyphs on ancient ruin walls come to her mind as she beholds this new world to replace the ghost’s funereal creation, which she now mumbles sub-consciously under hear breath: “… ‘and the Original One did create a world in the place of nothingness with its thousand arms’…” 

It may be hardly more than a myth. If so, Cynthia can still appreciate the exaggeration which has birthed the claims for the sight of the Alpha Pokémon and the innumerable, blinding light projecting out from it is awe-inspiring and fearsome in its raw majesticity. Until her chest actually aches from the deprivation, Cynthia has not realized that her breaths have been held in her throat, which she eventually releases with a reverential sigh. 

The same joy cannot be said for one of them. It is a world without concealment and the ghost, used to furtive half-life in the cover of darkness, finds itself without the barest relief in ambiguity in this new place. It fidgets and struggles against the pinning light-spear, but every movement causes the spear to erupt with flames that seize its shadowy hands. Arceus’s each step towards the ghost creates disproportionately tiny ripples in the calm pool as if it weighs no more than any of the human present. 

_-You still entertain hopes to escape, vermin?_ Arceus sends forth fiery waves along the length of the light-spear with a flick of its head. The ghost screams piteously when the undulation reaches the point of impalement and embeds the luminescent blade-tip further into the mirror-ground the ghost is pinned to. 

_-I suppose I could humour your fantasy for a little. If you do escape… then what? I do not presume you to be so foolish as to possess another host in my presence now…_

Those are uttered with that hint of a warning that the same brain-searing note can be unleashed without a notice. In return, the ghost produces a confusing sound, somewhere between a defiant snarl and a terrified whimper. 

_-Maybe you thought of finding another tear to escape through, as you did in Alamos? Fortune was indeed on your side: Escaping your prison, finding an easy entrance to Earthly Realm… even claiming your hosts soon after, if what I sense from that young man and the lady there is correct._

As it speaks, Arceus imparts a brief glance towards Tonio and the unconscious Prof. Carolina, each of them now in the embrace of their loved ones. Cynthia’s arms tighten across the old woman’s torso, while Alice, gasping softly in her conflicting urges to sob and keep herself quiet, reflexively finds Tonio’s hands to hold in hers. Though she does not have a detailed picture, she can certainly draw rough conclusions – Tonio’s sickness which has landed him in the hospital has been caused by the ghost’s possession, in the same way Prof. Carolina has fallen to periodical sickness under its influence once she was targeted instead after Tonio has been exhausted. 

Perhaps that is why Ash and Brock had found Tonio lying senseless in that alley. The way he had appeared then paralleled the comatose Prof. Carolina right now, looking as if she fights to stay at the edge of living. In a way, she and Tonio are themselves lucky to be in Alamos where Darkrai is around to thwart the ghost’s further attempts on them… 

_-However… how do you imagine you’ll provide yourself afterwards? The ones already here will be wary of you, and too few out there can even withstand possession, let alone to be fed upon. Will you seek us Legends, then?_

Another flick of the head; another wave is sent along the length of the radiant spear. Again comes the ghost’s agonized scream as fiery storms erupts along its shaft – but instead of a magnanimous respite, the rivers of flame race onwards to flood into the dark pit which emulates the ghost’s mouth, forcing themselves down the immaterial gullet and choking its scream into tearful gurgles despite its desperate efforts to block the rushing inflow. Dark ‘blood’ like those drizzling out from its impalement wound bubbles forth from its gaping mouth, cascading down its face to join the existing lake under it. Its palms burns brightly, scorched away inch by little inch each time it makes to grasp the light-and-fire spear. Its dusky body begins to glow like ember-centred charcoal as the searing heat settles into its core, brightest at the chest where the spear has gored cleanly through. Veins of fire spread into the extremities of its horns, claws and tail like burrowing worms in the soil, cremating the limbs into millions of scattered ash that hangs about in the air for a few seconds before they too, are gone. 

_-It almost makes me laugh. What else you imagine doing? Claim powers beyond measure? Bid others to stroke your ego? Create a world tailored to your whims?_

It is an agonizingly slow process, filled all the while with the ghost’s piercing screech that haunts the watchers with cold trepidation for its infernal suffering. The humans hunker down among themselves, ears covered in their hands to at least muffle the heart-tearing noises but their eyes are withdrawn against their will to witness the horrifying prospect no matter how hard and desperately their instincts scream for release. 

Clutching to her grandmother, Cynthia envies the old woman’s unknown relief in her unconsciousness, all the while struggling to comfort her Pokémon as best as she can; the pained frown on Prof. Rowan’s visage says much of the same experience as Cynthia is undergoing. At least, Tonio and Alice have each other to hold on to, as do Brock and Dawn – they embrace each other as if to ease their holds, even just a little for a second, will sunder them away and fling them into places where none has ever returned. The Pokémon fares no better than the humans – Newton’s Shieldon, yelping in pain and distress, seeks his Trainer for comfort in his embrace, where he curls himself defensively as though being inside a Pokéball. Other Pokémon is either moaning pitifully and flattening themselves to the mirror-floor as if willing themselves to drown under, or begging their Trainers to grant them escape into their Pokéballs, though Cynthia doubts that it will make much difference anyway. Pikachu and the other Pokémon belonging to Ash – the Feraligatr, who has braved himself to approach Ash after Arceus’ disheartening inspection on Ash – have no such convenience and consign themselves to cower around their unmoving Trainer. 

At long last, the torrent of flames is withdrawn though on no commands which are perceivable to the humans’ senses. The only indication from Arceus is in the ruddy glow of its eyes in which no pity can be gleaned from, only an unnerving satisfaction that puts into the watchers’ minds of a Liepard’s game with its exhausted prey. Though Arceus is technically on the humans’ side, it is still difficult for them to watch the ghost, a sentient entity who was once a human and a Legendary Pokémon, meted with its harsh – sadistic almost – punishment. 

Capable as it is to adapt to human norms, ultimately Arceus is a Legendary Pokémon operating on morals that do not always conform to theirs. 

_-…Please…!_ The ghost is whimpering in a voice broken by sobs, a complete turnabout to the cockiness inherent in both Hoopa and Cyrus. Cindery reds and oranges tinge its previously all-black form, itself no longer as tangible as it has been upon fleeing Ash’s body. Its arms and legs are now merely ragged stumps with thin, grey fumes smoking from the ember-red edges; the tail is gone also, though the horns are still somewhat visible. 

Arceus turns away in disgust, the snap of its neck as sharp as a striking Seviper. The defenders all cringe when the unsettling eyes are brought to bear upon them, though to their surprise no harm comes to them despite the lingering ire which profoundly affects those who brave themselves to look back. The few seconds of silence from the Legendary Pokémon are thoughtful, and the defenders wait in restless alarm for its verdict… 

Then, quite out of the blue that startles the defenders already high-strung with fear, Arceus declares, _-Return now where you belong._

Some of them are tempted to ask, but no one is brave enough – or even having enough time to do so because the white foams which appear on the reflective floor have stolen their attentions. No wind can be felt but there must have been energy of some sort, powering the gentle ripples into white-capped crests, though peculiar in that they do not radiate out from a source rather than converging on several points near the groups of defenders. It reminds them of a video of waves emerging from where a stone has been dropped into the water, but played backwards. 

When several of the waves have merged to become a shifting, flowing wall up to their knee, the holes form. 

No, not holes… but tunnels, though one that is so dark and deep that the end is lost in the infinite blackness within. The reflective floor seems less like a mirror and more of a vast lake then, for its ‘water’ rushes into the holes yawning open as waterfall crashes down indiscriminately down the rapids. At first, there are gasps and shouts of fright, and the humans scrabble for purchase that is never found at the edge of the watery tunnel – hands grasping for a handhold find only silvery liquids that flow right between their fingers, and the feet swinging maddeningly to stop their descent slip without traction. However, it seems that the Pokémon understand it much better than the humans, for Pikachu and Feraligatr simply hold on to Ash’s prone body and resign themselves to the pull of the vortex which has appeared under the Trainer. 

As the three disappear down the unseen depth, the Pokémon of other Trainers are also acceptant of their fate. The flight-capable Pokémon – Brock’s Swanna and Emolga, Cynthia’s Togekiss and Prof. Rowan’s Staraptor – are among the first to take the leap of faith. Wings tucked close to their bodies, they each call out reassuringly to their Trainers after their own fashions, and plunge themselves into the inky depths ahead of everyone else. 

“Staraptor,” Prof. Rowan mumbles wonderingly as the bird Pokémon is lost into the nearest maelstrom. In a second, his reluctance is won over and he foregoes all reasoning to let go, following his Pokémon into a fall of his own, his Luxray close behind in a willing dive. In a similar vein, there seems to be only minimal discussion going between Newton and the Shieldon before taking the resolute plunge without a moment’s hesitation. 

However, the struggle against one’s instinct and logic is rather more taxing for the rest of them, but the Pokémon accompanying them make it far easier than it would have been on their own. Letting himself fall to his belly, the Empoleon slides down the tunnel as though it is the most natural thing to do, and Dawn follows after him almost urgently since to wait longer will only scatter her nerves beyond recollection, though shrieking a little at first before she clasps her palm firmly over her mouth. Naturally, Brock goes after the girl whose outline is already swallowed by the fathomless well after a few seconds in, his shouted call for Dawn fading as he himself disappears; his Pokémon do so immediately, the Serperior’s leafy tail the last to be seen of them. Tonio and Alice need little reassuring – though they are without Pokémon, they know better than to distrust them – and jump into the whirlpool together, their hands intertwined for each other’s’ comfort. Cynthia is the last to go, watching over the couple being engulfed in the opaque centre of the cyclonic hole, then momentarily dares herself to glance at Arceus. 

There is no response from the Legendary Pokémon. The air surrounding it is of impatience, even a little annoyance, but what hostility remains is reserved only for the ghost still yet pinned fast against the floor. Though this is hardly the manner in which she fantasizes being in the Original One’s presence, nevertheless Cynthia recognizes that only incredible fortune has put her where she is. Her fanciful thinking suggests that perhaps the less-than-desirable conditions bringing them is the price of her dream materialized. It is not a very encouraging thought after all, what with the losses they have suffered, and she wonders briefly when, if ever, she will be granted luck to meet again the Legendary Pokémon in a much more favourable circumstance… 

She has tarried long enough. It is not in any way hinted personally by the Alpha Pokémon, but somehow she knows, and trying the Legend’s patience will be suicide. Cynthia returns her sight to the rotating hole of the tunnel – the portal, she corrects herself belatedly – waiting for their last passengers. Taking a deep, deep breath, she motions the Garchomp to take her grandmother into her arms, which the landshark does gently by cradling her in a bridal position. Then, the Pokémon and her Trainer too follow after their pioneers’ steps down into the unknowns of the rabbit’s hole. As the last blonde strand of Cynthia’s hair recedes into the vortex-portal, the swirling current at the brink slows down rapidly until the ‘water’ loses its centrifugal momentum to keep edging the hole. It floods down the chute, the sound not unlike a stream coursing lazily into a larger lake, and keeps filling until it spills over the brim and swamps over the last trace of the whirlpool ever existing under the reflectively tranquil surface. 

  
  


Silence again returns in the world of blue sky and mirror floor, broken only by the ghost’s longing wails for similar escape into the portals Arceus has provided to the defenders. Even then, they devolve quickly into whimpers that refused to be wholly restrained despite the ghost’s best attempts. 

Perhaps the sliver of hope has made it impetuous. It may be as well that the ghost is clinging to the possibility of reaching into the deeply buried sympathy underneath all that churning, broiling anger. Whatever it is, the ghost parts its mouth, the words cast out as though it is the last line for salvation before it falls into the abyss, and the plea is not just Cyrus’ or Shadow Hoopa’s; they belong to both, equally in power of their coalition now, equally desperate to escape. 

_-Mercy us, mercy us…!_

It is like merely hearing a comprehensible word from the ghost re-kindles the anger which is just starting to smoulder, though not wholly extinguished. The split-second glister in its eyes are interpreted a second later by the light-spear erupting into a pair of spiralling ribbons made of orange flames, though it seems that they serve as warning rather than tools of pain for they wane as quickly as they are created. Nevertheless, the ghost’s plea is instantly silenced, leaving its hazy outline shimmering precariously, as though only by the most tenuous link that they are connected together. 

_-You plead for mercy,_ the contempt is naked and untempered, and the light-spear reflects the sentiment with a split-second flare that wrenches yet another gasp from its victim, _-yet when Ash begged the same from you, was it given? I heard his cries as clearly as if I was there in his mind._

_-We surrender, please, please, please, we surrender –_

_-He wanted you both to have a chance,_ Arceus forges on; heedless of the ghost’s pathetic attempt to fish the tiniest shred of magnanimity from the storms of emotions surging in the Legend. _-Perhaps he has known that my judgement will be less… lenient._

_-…Let us repent!_ The ghost eventually wails, though whatever is spoken now becomes monstrously gurgled instead. The flow of black liquid from its mouth has not receded with time, which now smears all over its scrunched visage and dribbling liberally over the mirror-smooth floor beneath it. _-Take us away! Punish us! We’ll make amends! We’ll –_

_-You have had your chances._ The sentence is spoken in a voice as cold and unyielding as iron, and the calmness by which it regards the ghost drowning in its own enlarging lake of ‘blood’ cannot be owed to the return of calm reasoning. 

The first act from the Legend is to retract the light-spear, though so heedlessly done as one pulling out an offending burred seedling out of one’s clothing, that the withdrawal rips the entry wound into a raggedy chasm that bleeds out the night-black fluid in an unending gush. The scream it makes is by far the loudest, most frightening, and with enough intensity to damage a human’s ears should there is actually anyone still remaining. The blade of the spear trails blood in its removal – splattering the reflection of the sky on the floor with steaming, foul-smelling inky dribbles which evaporate into thin air a few seconds later – but by the time it is re-integrated back into the dim glow surrounding Arceus, the last of the taints has been sloughed off to vaporize into nothingness. 

However, even with the restraint lifted, the ghost discovers that there is no freedom for it as it lies in the lake of its life-fluid, darker now than the blackest ink and shining like the back of a beetle, burbling no longer articulated pleas to the Alpha Legend. Its body loses cohesiveness for the spear which has trapped it is in fact the only thing which keeps it formed; it is still somewhat discernible, but there are only a nebulous collection of features which suggests a face. There are two dying embers for eyes and a rip underneath to make a mouth… and little else, for outlines of its limbs and the rest of its body is now lost, immersed in the onyx liquidness of its own essence. If there has been any need to breathe, the ghost would have long asphyxiated in the very element which supplies it its faded life. 

But existence as a spectre needs no breath but Auras stolen from others, and Arceus will not let this sacrilegious union of spirits to perish so… mundanely. 

Besides, the Original One is not the only person expecting to enact the ghost its just desert. 

The ghost, having now lost its unholy imitation of a mouth, loses also its ability to physically vocalize. Thus what still remains to continue its beseeches is its mind, its litany now reduced to simple repetitions which it broadcasts into Arceus’ mind: _-Please, forgive us, please, please, please, let us go, forgive us –_

The mind waiting to be summoned vibrates excitedly as Arceus reaches out for a mental touch. Vengeance and wrath reign supreme in the other consciousness, flooding into their connection the moment it is completed, white-hot and searing. It is the only indication needed that its time has now come, whence yet another vortex begins to churn into being on the other side of the ghost, opposite of Arceus. It is larger, far larger than the ones used to transport the humans and their Magical Creatures (and Ash, Arceus thinks despite not wanting to; forced to remember how the body has slid off lifelessly, without manual guidance or even a surprised gasp, trusting his safety in the hands of his companion Creatures, and the sorrow which Arceus has fought with torn heart to keep under now bleeds into an untamed fury), in fact gaping widely enough to allow a Legend-sized Magical Creature to pass through. 

From the deeps blacker even than the ones the defenders have plunged themselves into, something is racing out on outstretched wings more substantial than smoke and shadows, but are never truly solid themselves. Long, serpentine body in one second; not so serpentine in another, but still long and imposingly huge – perhaps even more so. Flashes of gold or brass amidst greys and blacks and reds… 

Giratina has arrived, landing on its hexapodal feet newly transformed from the streamlined spikes they were in Origin Forme. The beak-like jaws, foundation of nearly all nightmares of chitinous mandibles and gnawing mouth and tearing teeth, click expectantly at the ghost lying helplessly at Arceus’ feet. Eyes ever more merciless than Arceus – impossible as though to imagine it – are glaring at the glistening, oily black mass of sentient globule on the mirror-floor. Ravenous is still an understatement with which the Renegade does so at the ghost. Frightening as Giratina is normally to mortal eyes, when its Aura is left to radiate uncontrolled, there is no escaping the miasma of helpless, dreadful terror it induces to all within range, if one happens to be anybody else except Arceus. Though far from the point of near-suicidal hopelessness others would have been inflicted, even Palkia and Dialga would have found themselves instinctively on guard if they were to be exposed to Giratina’s Aura. Each of the Guardians is on par with one another but Giratina’s brute force and undaunted resolve has earned its title of a Renegade not just for the ease of identification. 

_-The Distortion World… MY world…_ Only that; the rest are growls projected with both physical throat and mind-voice. 

_-I believe you call it, ‘the Intruder.’_

An approving growl, but still no word. 

_-You have hunted long and hard, Giratina._ It is not a question but Giratina’s growl nevertheless rises into a resentful snarl. 

_-The cloud spread its poison. Every day I watch. Every day I fear the poison will leak to this side… Now, I shall make it regret it!_

_-By all means,_ Arceus replies, in that moment sharing the pain of the Renegade Legend in watching its treasure, its home, invaded and mangled, to be exploited heedlessly, while the culprit comes and goes its merry ways. It is only a small leap to replace the treasure from the Reverse World to a human, bright eyes now dulled, face deathly pale, the lean body bruised and battered… Palkia and Dialga share the bitterness for Cyrus – and whatever it is he has become now. However, whereas they would rather prefer to keep themselves as far away as possible from their once-captor, Arceus knows that aversion will not satisfy it as it can never placate the Mirror World Guardian. It has gone well beyond redemption or punishment. 

It is now _extermination._

Arceus’ voice is a whisper, deceptively serene, a counterpoint to Giratina’s underlying rumbles. Perhaps, this is exactly why it is made all the more terrifying than if it is roared: 

_-Let nothing remains._

The ghost’s cries rise to a manic crescendo. It seems like the world shakes with the Renegade’s stride as it approaches the spectral fusion of Cyrus and the Shadow of Hoopa. It does try to retreat from Giratina’s advance, though in its weakened and debased state, the effortless flight as it has done in escaping the Renegade in the Reverse World is now stripped away from it. A slow ooze is the only mode it is capable of – and Giratina has no need to hurry whatsoever before it catches the ghost in its vast shadows. There does not seem to be any logical way for Giratina’s mouth to open that wide but to the ghost’s sight, somehow it does. Teeth more numerous than counting and sharper than mind can hold line the edges. Breath so hot, it scorches the ghost’s ectoplasmic body and dissolves its leaked life-fluid into airborne wisps, soon lost to the air. Its mental scream is loud and chaotic in the minds of the two Legendary Pokémon; sounding miserably suppliant among the pained wails as Giratina’s terrible maw descends upon it until words completely give way to unintelligible howls. 

Arceus observes coldly while the Renegade’s beaked maw and gnashing teeth make a short yet excruciatingly agonizing work of it, viciously sinking into oily shadows and tearing bloody slices off them, flinging splatters around before they are swallowed down its throat; watches on with eyes aglow with fury and eerie satisfaction, right till the final dark fragment, once the blasphemous amalgamation of Cyrus and Shadow Hoopa, devoured and the last echo of its scream wanes to a peaceful and untainted quietness. 

  


*

  


The portals’ impenetrable darkness proves to be misleading. Though they all have jumped inside with hearts yet filled with doubts, doing so only because it is much more preferable than bearing witnesses to Cyrus and the Shadow Hoopa’s ghost facing its judgement, the journey itself is surprisingly short-lived. 

Dawn has followed her Empoleon, instinctively closing her eyes tightly when the blackness engulfing her becomes too eerie to behold; thinking _Why am I doing this?_ and _I shouldn’t have done this!_ in two consecutive seconds, begins screaming in the third (not that she is heard because the rushing wind steals away her voice the instant she lets it out), and finally, huffing in pained surprise as her body thuds resoundingly into something solid, mere few moments after she hears her Empoleon’s groans. 

Dust and the smell of crushed vegetation fill her nostrils when she tries to inhale for her relieved sigh, making her sputter. All around her, somewhere, similar long-drawn shouts are being ended with sudden gasps as bodies slam against the same tangible, concrete-hard surface which has received her. She struggles with her coughs until her respiratory system is cleaned of the impurities, by which time she eventually manages to force her eyes open and take in her new environment… 

The sunlight is the first thing which she takes notice of, and the greatest delight which she finds herself savouring in. No longer the shadow-bound world of the ghost’s making or Arceus’ unearthly realm of unbounded sky and floor of edgeless mirror; this is the blessedly warm sunlight which she had known throughout her life. As far as she can tell, she is back on normal Earth… though the tranquil-watered lake which spreads before her – of which the grass-grown banks are where she and the Empoleon have been deposited – is unrecognizable. She racks her brain for matches but this body of water does not conform to any of the three Sinnoh lakes – it is larger than Verity yet smaller than Acuity, while its surrounding indicate a location somewhere more isolated than Lake Valor, which boasts the Lakeside Hotel and the Seven Star Restaurant at its banks, both being major tourist – and Trainers’ – attractions. In fact, the sheer cliffs backing the relatively narrow shores are high enough as to be a little unnerving, giving her a creeping sense of imprisonment in the way they seem to fence the lake within, as if keeping it untouched from the outside world. 

For the moment though, her loneliness is alleviated when she notices the Empoleon waddling his way towards her, chirping noises asking for reassurances. Other Pokémon, having regained their senses of balance, are rushing after their respective Trainers as well to ascertain their well-being. As for the humans themselves… by virtue of being closest to her, firstly Dawn sees a dazed Brock is being aided to stand with the vines from his Serperior with the Swanna and Croagunk placing themselves on either sides his legs for additional support, while the Emolga chirps out encouragement from his perch on the snake-Pokémon’s head. Similarly, Prof. Rowan, the first human to have jumped down the vortex-portal, is groggily pushing himself back to his feet whilst being supported by Staraptor and Luxray. Alice is apparently lucky enough to have Tonio pads her landing with his body, consequently making the man gasp urgently for air which has been squeezed out of his lungs, though otherwise they both look relatively unharmed (Alice is frantically and sheepishly apologetic, which Tonio waives aside despite his breathlessness and ribs-clutching). The other professor, Newton Graceland and his Shieldon seem the most unaffected by the extraordinary mode of travel – as expected, if one considers how many times he has passed through portals between Earth-side and the Reverse World. Although the Togekiss is already slowly coming back to senses, Cynthia is nowhere to be found at first, though after a few seconds of anxious searching, a new portal opens up a few feet in the air near Prof. Rowan, spitting out Garchomp, whose body is curled protectively around the unconscious Prof. Carolina whom she is cradling in her arms. After a brief delay, Cynthia tumbles out, her long blonde hair whipping about, as she draws up her knees close to her chest and enters into a series of rolls to lessen the impact of her landing. 

Additionally, and much to the surprise of all those present, there are three additional arrivals which they have not seen prior to escaping the sky-and-mirror world which Arceus has constructed, floating about at a feet or so higher than a human’s standing height. Their vocalizations are wordless yet soothing in their odd bell-like chiming, and curiously familiar to Dawn. 

“…The Lake Guardians!” She blurts out, recognizing immediately the trio of little Legendary Pokémon and bringing the scattered attentions to Uxie, Mesprit and Azelf hovering otherwise unobtrusively above them. 

In response, Dawn’s body is filled with the calming sensation of warmth which flows through her like water at the mouth of a river, the way it has felt when the Being of Emotion attempts to reach out to her. A voice – undoubtedly Mesprit’s because she has never forgotten how it sounded since the first time it was spoken to her – says in her mind, _-The Master has called to us. We know what happened._

“‘The master’…?” 

Dawn’s bewilderment is interrupted by two other voices, each distinguishable from one another, yet at the same time sounding similar to Mesprit’s: 

_-We come to help,_ Azelf’s forked tail is swayed about when the voice finishes saying. 

_-We come to heal,_ and Uxie makes a brief twirl in the air as if to indicate itself as the latest speaker. 

“‘Help… and heal’…” Brock mutters, having reclaimed sufficient balance to shuffle his way to Dawn’s side. Like Dawn, the Lake Guardians must have spoken to him as well while the others are still eyeing at the Legendary Pokémon cluelessly. Brock looks around in an undisputable manner of someone who is not yet fully recovered from the dizzying fall and equally disorienting landing. “… Where are we?” 

Uxie, the Being of Knowledge, detaches itself from its brethren and flies over to Brock, stopping to hover at about an arm’s length away from his face. 

_-This is Sendoff Spring,_ it says to Brock primarily, though Dawn is capable of hearing it too. However, to Dawn, Uxie’s voice has a quality of a whisper when compared to Mesprit’s more lucid speech – perhaps the varying clarity is owed to the bonds the individual Lake Guardians have made with their chosen persons, where Brock is bonded to Uxie while Mesprit has elected Dawn to be connected with – to be its Vassal, as the ghost of Cyrus has put it. 

Or, more simply, it can just as well be natural differences among the Lake Guardians. 

Meanwhile, Uxie is replying to a question of Brock’s which Dawn has missed, _-Of course. It is the fourth lake of Sinnoh, but it is a secret few people nowadays are aware of._ “So there’ll be nobody to freak out when we start dropping out of the sky…” Brock glances at the Knowledge Legend sheepishly for confirmation. However, the look of mild triumph when Uxie does indeed agree is eroded away by worry once he gives a sweeping glance at the other survivors. “… Wait, where’s Ash?!” 

Startled and motivated to look around more thoroughly herself, Dawn has to accept that there is no sight of the Ketchum anywhere though he and his Pokémon are among the first to enter their portal. Questions teeter on the edge of her lips when Mesprit swoops down to the level of her eyes, which it looks into with its own yellow ones. 

_-Here he comes now,_ it whispers before spiralling off with Uxie to join Azelf a few yards away from the rest of the survivors where a new exit vortex is churning into existence. 

Dawn and Brock barely reach the Lake Guardians in time when Pikachu and Feraligatr plunge out with surprised yelps which mirror hers upon escaping her own portal. Scarcely moments after them, their Trainer emerges, his shoed feet visible first and foremost in the liquidly rotary centre, before the rest of him sidles out of it as though borne on a current. Both Brock and Dawn hurry off to carefully ease their friend to the ground and the portal which has delivered the Ketchum vanishes at the same instant. To their dismay, no sign is perceivable that Ash is awakening – or, for that matter, any indication of recovery whatsoever. 

_“Pika-pi…”_ the Pikachu whimpers and tugs at the hem of Dawn’s skirt as if begging her help to do something. It makes her feel much worse that she herself has scantly an idea what to do. 

“We should get him to the hospital…?” Brock’s statement ends up more inquiring than anything. It is a logical course to suggest but Brock doubts that it will actually make any difference, not when he has seen the dead ends conventional medicines have run into whilst treating Tonio. He had woken up by himself then, though the man had not looked as terrible as Ash now… 

Azelf slips in among them at the second, giving her hope that there must be something doable to the Legendary Pokémon if none of them can. It settles on Ash’s chest; tiny paws gently tracing marks unseen to others though every now and then, Azelf will wince either in fear or revulsion. The gems on its forehead and the smaller pair studding the twin tips of its tail glint with a subdued redness when it begins to chant softly to a tune that Dawn cannot identify. 

“Is… Is he going to be alright?” Dawn hates it that, failing to give comfort to Ash’s distressed Pokémon, she is unable to force herself to sound more confident at the very least. 

Azelf is occupied thoroughly with Ash that it looks like it is unaware of being inquired. However, she is heard by Mesprit who wheels over and poises itself in front of her, while the same is being done by Uxie to Brock. What the Being of Knowledge is imparting to the man is private this time for she cannot listen in on their mental conversation, but Mesprit is perfectly and clearly heard in hers: 

_-I will help mend what the Wielder of the Red Chains has hurt._

Saying so, Mesprit too begins its own chant that sounds partly like a lullaby and partly like a prayer, though if there are words included in it, Dawn cannot decipher it. Off from the other side of Ash where Brock has knelt, Uxie’s little voice, a few notes lower-sounding than Mesprit’s, floats to her ears. Unlike their mental projections, these chants are audible to all through normal ears rather then personally directed because all of the others – Cynthia, Prof. Rowan, Newton, Tonio, Alice and their Pokémon – become noticeably more peaceful. For her, and supposedly to Brock as well judging by his expressions, the same sensations of river coursing through their bodies which they have felt upon their first connections with the Lake Guardians, return. Not only are they soothing, the experiences are more vitally cleansing – like there are taints left in them by the ghost which they do not even notice being there until Mesprit and Uxie neutralize the sickening venom to leave them whole again. She cannot describe it perfectly, but it feels like her body has become lighter, her thoughts clearer and her heart expunged of the shadows which have been brought into her. Even the horrors endured from the ghost of Cyrus and Shadow of Hoopa feel much less threatening in the wake of the Lake Guardian’s comforts… 

Both she and Brock draw in a deep, contented breath in tandem as the Lake Guardians withdraw their purgative powers. However, the feeling of secureness and tender friendliness has not left them as the chanting ceases, but remain warmly inside them. 

“Mesprit, thank you,” Dawn whispers to the smiling Mesprit; Brock is murmuring his own gratitude to Uxie as well with a barely-heard, “Thanks, Uxie. I’ve needed that…” 

Nodding their acknowledgements, the Lake Guardians move on to tend to their Pokémon, starting with Ash’s Pikachu and Feraligatr before making their way through Serperior, Swanna, Emolga,and Dawn’s Empoleon, repeating the same procedures which they have implemented on the humans. This time, being an observer rather than a patient, Dawn notices that a greyish veil-like wisp, looking like smoke almost, is being withdrawn from the Pokémon as the chant is sung and consequently dispersed without a trace, although for each individual the opacity differs. Although it unsettles her, every Pokémon whom Uxie and Mesprit heal show the same encouraging relaxedness about them once they are done with that Dawn cannot help her heart from swelling with gladness at the sight of them returned to their natural confidence and ease. 

On the other hand, it reminds them that their Pokémon have earned their rest after all those chaos and now that they are back on normal Earth. Having only one Pokémon out, the Empoleon has long been recalled and the Pokéball clipped back to her Trainer’s belt while Brock is stowing away his second Pokémon. Croagunk even throws a look that plainly says duh when Brock sheepishly thanks all of his Pokémon for their works, though Croagunk manages to steal a little nuzzle to the man’s hand before he is returned into the Pokéball. 

In the meantime, Uxie and Mesprit soar off to attend to the other members of the party – firstly, Prof. Carolina. Cynthia’s expression is a mixture of girlish fascination and anxious concern for her grandmother whom she has taken from the Garchomp to be laid on her lap and is trying to unknot the bandage completely soaked through with blood to be replaced with a fresh one. Again the lullaby/prayer-like recital, this time sung by Uxie whilst placing both of its paws on Prof. Carolina’s chest. Uxie’s body begins to glow and when it does, so too her chest, where Uxie’s hands are pressed into begin to be pervaded with a dim light whose source seems to come from in her body. Fumes darker than those which have been so far extracted, even making Cynthia gag briefly before she brings her reflex under control, diffuses out via Prof. Carolina’s mouth, nostrils and scalp. The wound on her arm also begins to mend itself, the oozing blood slowing down to trickles before stopping altogether; flesh stitches autonomously across the split and skin grows across the healing gash until there is no evidence, not even a faint scar, to indicate her injury ever being there. 

Eyes round as coin, Cynthia – who has stopped trying to change the bandage when Uxie begins the healing – looks up at the Being of Knowledge when it finally retreats, leaving Prof. Carolina looking as whole and unharmed as she has been before her possession. The old woman’s expression is no longer contorted, her lines smoothing to reveal a face of someone sleeping rather than lost in an illness. 

“Thank you, thank you so much…” she says in a quavering voice quite unlike her usual manner, having all the bottled depression finally relieved in the mere sight of the serenity on her grandmother’s visage. 

Uxie proceeds with the curing on Cynthia and her Pokémon next, though from each of them only the thinnest fume is extracted before they are deemed well. Perhaps the extensiveness of damages the ghost have inflicted is responsible for the efforts in healing, seeing that Uxie lingers no more than a few seconds on the woman and her Pokémon compared to its stay with Prof. Carolina. Indeed, while Uxie is focusing on Cynthia’s group, Mesprit is visiting Tonio who sustains a direct injury due to the ghost as Prof. Carolina does, and the chanting for him is longer and the smoke it dissolves from the young man’s body is thicker than Cynthia, though expectedly it remains that Prof. Carolina’s taint is apparently darkest of them all. 

“That’s so… _cool,”_ Tonio mutters at the sight of his calf mending by itself as Prof. Carolina’s wound was miraculously sealed. He looks simultaneously glad and skittish which is rather understandable if one allows the mind to think too deeply on it, since the healing itself makes it look like his flesh is alive on its own… 

Alice promptly nudges her elbow into Tonio’s rib and gives a proper thank-you that Tonio has forgotten to make. 

Prof. Rowan’s turn is next, though neither he nor Newton who comes after exudes more of the sickening smog than the amount given out by Tonio. Mesprit’s works on them progress speedily due to this, and their Pokémon – Staraptor, Luxray and Shieldon – submit willingly to the Being of Emotion and are healed with just as little complication. Amidst the celebratory and thanksgiving though, Dawn and Brock do not lose their sights on Azelf and his charge. At some point, it stops its chanting to prowl around the Trainer’s body, finally stopping at his waist where the belt holding Ash’s Pokéballs is just visible under the slight hiking of his shirt. A quick sniffs and a reflexive recoiling tell them that Being of Willpower has found Ash’s withdrawn Pokémon also bearing the ghost’s stains. Brock is about to offer setting loose the Pokémon within if it eases Azelf’s task, but the Lake Guardian simply lays its paws on some of the Pokeballs before the balls begin rattle, then quiet down just as abruptly when the now-familiar smoke fizzles out from them. 

“Must be the Sawsbuck,” Brock says, recalling having seen glimpses of the stag Pokémon collapsing before its Trainer summons him back into the safety of the Pokéball, while Azelf, satisfied with the states of Ash’s Pokémon now, returns its attention back to the human. 

Watching the Feraligatr nosing at one of the Pokéballs, Brock understands what is implied and helps the Pokémon back into the safety of it; all the while sparing cautious glances at Azelf should he somehow disturb the Lake Guardian. However, Azelf does not show any sign of being interrupted – in fact, it may as well have fallen into a trance and is unaware of its surrounding, by the look of the intense focus on its face. Brock does not even try asking Pikachu if he wants to be helped like the Feraligatr, knowing all too well that the combination of its natural dislike of Pokéball and its restless worry concerning the Ketchum will only make his otherwise good-natured offer insulting. Hence there remains the trio Brock, Dawn and Pikachu, arranging themselves in a loose ring around Ash and battling their pessimism at so discouraging a sight whilst Azelf continues to whisper its melodious chanting… 

A frown appears on Azelf’s face. Its golden-yellow eyes are pinched not only in concentration but in newly-arising discomfort. The paws grasp more tightly at the shirt and crumple the fabric in its tiny fists, in fact almost tearing it. Its song wavers in and out as the dim glow of the gems on its forehead and tail flickers. They can hear its breath now – rapid gasps and pants as if someone who has ran long and hard, and is now struggling to draw in enough air to counteract the fatigue. 

“Azelf –” Dawn starts to say but she is cut short by Azelf’s abrupt yelp, its body hurled back as if repelled by an invisible force. 

Fortunately, Dawn is quick to receive its fall, throwing out both of her arms and bringing Azelf close to her chest. The noises of the brief commotion bring the other Lake Guardians rushing towards their Willpower kin; frantic chirps are exchanged in rapid-fire among them. They do not communicate in manners understandable to the humans but apparently, Azelf is being comforted by – or consulting with – the other Lake Guardians. Understandably, Pikachu shares in the Lake Guardians’ anxiety that Azelf turns out to have such an unexpected reaction to… whatever it is that has flung the Legendary Pokémon back. Despite it, none of the Lake Guardians are prepared to concede defeat just yet. In a little while, Azelf is untangling itself from Dawn’s hold to join the other two hovering above Ash, apparently deep in thoughts themselves. 

Joining their hands together – Azelf holding on to Mesprit’s paws, who in turn grasps Uxie’s, and back to Azelf – the incantation begins anew. Their combined voices rise louder and clearer than those they have each recited to their previous charges. As one, a soft glow wraps about their interlinked bodies, Azelf’s blue softly melding with Mesprit’s pink while Uxie’s warm yellow harmoniously balances the softer hues of its partners. At the same time, a sullen haze is bubbling out from Ash’s mouth and nostrils, appearing like a precursor of the contaminant smoke which the Lake Guardians have pulled out from the others but much, much denser… before long, their great exertions are beginning to show on their grimacing faces. All three of the Lake Guardians are struggling even to breathe, let alone to wrest the tainting leftovers of the ghost residing in Ash. Their song becomes interspersed with grunts. Perhaps they would have suffered punishments as severe as Azelf had they attempted it individually, though it is nonetheless perturbing to see them jolted into sudden bouts of spasms as if struck by a wayward Thunderbolt. With a collective cry, they let go of their paws and wheel cautiously around Ash like they are afraid that what has caused them pain before will strike again, while the dark smoke ebbs back into the Ketchum. 

_“Pika-pi!”_ Pikachu yells, all at once dispirited and agitated, and dashes towards his unaffected Trainer, still prone and lifeless as when he was brought to Earth. 

At this point, others have also realized that not all is well when their attentions are caught by Azelf’s initial yelp. Now, seeing that even the cooperation of the Lake Guardians is thwarted, the new crisis hastens them out of their idling and towards the Ketchum and his friends. Even Cynthia, torn at first to leave her grandmother – sleeping now rather than fainted – cannot abide the thought of sitting at the side and leaves her in the care of Garchomp and Togekiss, whilst she herself joins the couple, Prof. Rowan and Newton already stopping a few paces back from Dawn and Brock. They watch avidly at the circling Lake Guardians and the Pikachu’s vapid nudging to Ash’s ribs, doing so less because hoping it will work but rather not doing anything will be a lot more awful to bear. 

As hateful as it is to admit, despair hangs heavily in the air; mocking the cheerful sunniness and the peace which have welcomed their return to Earth. The one thing to hold their hope onto was that Ash is still breathing, however weakly he does. In their helplessness, Dawn’s mind recalls all of the harrowing escapes Ash had gone through, the seconds’ misses that differentiate life and death, freak accidents which didn’t seem possible and the equally freakish manners with which he wormed out of them, and perhaps… perhaps, Ash will be saved again by the same miracle? 

Surely, if she, if all of them, keep to the faith – 

As if in answer, the air is suddenly filled with tingling energy that pricks their skin, becomes _charged,_ as it were, and the brief gusts which blow out of nowhere converge into a tightly swirling current in the sky – in the same manner of events which have preceded Arceus’ appearance in the darkened world. The whirlpool then explodes, in its death unleashing streaks of colours from its centre and, sure enough, the Original One itself, as restless as the portal which has aided its arrival. Hard-eyed gaze sweep across the landscapes before locking on the humans and Pokémon crowded together on one corner of the lake. 

There is a cry in its throat; a shriek, hoarse and raptor-ish, that echoes in the Legendary Pokémon but is never properly uttered as it beholds the centrefold of the group. Arceus canters on thin air as it would on solid surface, each long stride bringing it closer to ground-level where the Lake Guardians eventually rise to meet it with their soft warbles. No comprehensible words pass between the Pokémon, but Arceus finally interrupts the flow of hums and chirps with a choked groan suspiciously close to sounding like a wail and hurries off to where Ash lays yet unmoving. Not the slightest attention is spared for the other human or Pokémon, excepting only the Ketchum’s Pikachu with whom it exchanges a short rumble. This time, the glow of its eyes is different in nature than it has been when confronting the Cyrus-Shadow Hoopa ghost, unsettling not with rage but inconsolable disquiet. 

_-Ash,_ it says softly as the golden hooves are brought to land among the short-cropped grass; more softly, to the point that Dawn has trouble hearing it, it whispers, _-Dearest Ash…_

Dawn’s palm reflexively comes up to cover her surprised gasp, turning it into a muffled cough instead. She has been suspecting but in the confusing fights which have plagued them, she owes it to her dazzled mind making up impossible scenario from unreliable observations. It is just as easy to dismiss it now, placing the blame on her exhaustion, both in mind and body, but seeing Arceus bent over the Ketchum and its front legs splayed wide so that its head can be dropped low enough to touch his forehead, there is realness to it that defies the stubborn logics of the brain. Difficult as it is to believe, Arceus’ concern for Ash is not only due to his being the ghost’s latest victim. It is personal, singular, something almost (dare she say it? _Intimate_ ) in nature, its true face hidden under the bewildering, churning struggles that the ghost has forced them into. 

_Was it so difficult though?_

Dawn had seen its rage perpetrated upon Michina Town. She had also seen Arceus blasted by the pouring of the silverwater, the helpless sorrow as it was caught in the pit and the amiableness that broke through the fury once the truth was revealed and Damos’ name cleansed. Arceus can – and will – kill without remorse if given the cause but it is also emphatic to suffering and, as the lending of its Jewel of Life testifies, is wholly capable of altruism. And Ash… he was there when everything seemed doomed and imparted to it the Jewel of Life, and they were saved from untimely demise under the dreadful shrine. 

_No,_ she decides, _It is perfectly believable. Reasonable, even._

Yet, there remains something that nags incessantly in the back of her mind. Of course Arceus would not want to see its once-saviour succumbs to the ghost’s dirty tricks, as do the rest of them but… there is more to it. There _must_ be. Of all the time it could have shown itself, Arceus came when it was Ash who was taken – and not in all those weeks Prof. Carolina had endured the ghost’s possession. It resorted to true aggression when its offer was spurned and Ash was hurt (he’s not dying, Dawn retorts to the treacherously pessimistic whisperings that come whenever she looks at the deathly pale face) as a consequence. Its fury is different than when it was raining Judgment on Michina, yet there are echoes of it which Dawn cannot quite grasp her mind around – 

The thought which comes after is inevitable, following the train which she has chosen to board: _Who is Ash to you, Arceus?_

The burning question startles her but it remains only in her head. On the outside, she is alike the rest of them, concerned and fearful and cautiously hopeful. Seen from some angles, it is easily mistaken that Arceus is… _kissing_ Ash, with its dark face so close to his whilst murmuring words that she cannot catch with how softly they are uttered. The curvature of its face seems to fit nicely with Ash’s facial contours – or, maybe it is an illusion owed to Arceus’ massiveness overwhelming the human’s finer details. As it continues its secret whispering, Arceus’ form becomes outlined with a brilliant aura, gold and silver seamlessly intertwined, funnelling in meandering paths from the Legend’s forehead into Ash like watching rivulets of raindrops flowing on waxy leaves and trickling into a puddle on the ground beneath them. All of these commence in a respectful silence which dawns over them like a blanket; reassuring rather than oppressive. More importantly, Ash’s conditions are improving slowly, starting with the colours which are returning to his face. The swell and fall of his chest in respiration is more pronounced, and not the barely-there ripples as it was before. In fact, there are movements, albeit very subtle and likely involuntary, but they are still welcomed compared to the comatose stillness which reminds her too closely of a corpse – 

The sudden blazing of Arceus’ eyes are shocking, the growls which come after are terrifying, but when Ash’s body arches upwards, tense like a bow drawn too far as to approach its breaking point, it becomes suddenly clear that something is amiss. 

The blood comes, not in a slow trickle or fountain-bubbles like with those movie-people, when wounded and struggling to talk, will gasp wetly before death takes over. No, the blood gushes out from Ash’s mouth like vomit, like his vital organs have ruptured and now everything that is inside him, every little cell that gives him life, cannot wait to get out of his body. Even his nostrils are foamed with bloody streaks, throwing out bright red spurts with every convulsion that wracks his helpless body. The bloody globules make stark splashes against his face and shirt until skin and clothing become monochromatically red. There is nothing relieving in Ash’s movements after all: his eyes remain closed and his mind lost in the unconsciousness, but here and now his physical body is like a mannequin jerked with every fit of the exhaustive coughing. He does not look like a corpse now but worse – like a fish skewered through, thrashing in its death throes at the end of the hunter’s harpoon, awaiting only the final drop of life to leech out of its feeble body. 

Others must have been shocked also but Dawn is unaware of anything but the spilling blood and the owner suffering through its loss. Was she the one screaming? She may have, her mouth and throat ache so much, and her ears refuse to open themselves to sounds, afraid to listen more to the wet guzzling and splashes, but her eyes, her eyes will neither close nor avert themselves, transfixed to the gore and bloodshed in front of her, her fingers senseless but trembling – 

“Stop!” Somebody is shouting but Dawn hears it as if she is underwater, the hoarse cry faint and muffled – and realizes vacuously later that the voice is hers, “You’re hurting him! Stop it!” 

Perhaps she never believes that Arceus means to hurt, not truly. Panic is speaking for her then, and not until the mental roar that reverberates mightily in her skull is her catatonic trance broken. She clamps her mouth shut with a gasp, feeling her teeth and gums hurt from the clench and somebody’s arms wrapping about her – Brock’s, but he is shaking as well. His eyes are wide with the same morbid fascination as that which has fixed Dawn to the scene. The roar is Arceus’ for the efforts to sever the flow of its aura are forcing the Legend to its knees. Another mind-shaking roar rattles through them, marking Arceus finally succeeding to do so, the glimmering strings shattering into kaleidoscopic particles which the brighter sunlight soon engulfs. With a final spasm, Ash retches into the air a rich spray of blood and unidentifiable gobbets which catch into the fur on Arceus’ neck, head and face, staining the pristine whiteness with a shocking, vivid red and soaking a side of its face. What is not absorbed is dripping down from the point of its chin and the line of its lower jaw before finally, it splashes to the ground underneath and turning the green grass-blades as red as Ash’s face. 

There are times in which the seconds seem to stretch inappropriately, and this is one of those. 

The ensuing silence is eerie and frightening – and not a little nauseating. The metallic smell of fresh blood hangs thickly in the air, triggering primal instincts to retch and wash the mouths and nostrils of the invasive scent and the phantasmal taste left on one’s tongue. Steams rise in gentle swirls from whatever surfaces contaminated by the blood. Small, helpless barks break the stillness – they come from Pikachu, half of his body no longer yellow but red, and the Pokémon is heedless of the thicker stains left on his face when he nudges Ash’s cheeks. The long ears drag listlessly on both sides of his head, the black tips now blood-red being skimmed across the haemolytic puddles. 

“No, no, no, it can’t be, Ash –” 

“Wait, Dawn.” Brock gestures her to look closely at Ash and, there it is, the feeble up-and-down of his chest. It is truly a miracle to see him still breathing after the bloody retches which seem, in those few horrifying seconds, to be the scissors of his lifeline… 

The watching Lake Guardians at once descend to circle Arceus’ upraised head, chirping continuously until the Original One is brought back to its senses with a vigorous shake of the head, bloody bits flung about unconcernedly as if they are nothing more than ordinary dirt. Then, as inattentive to the messes as Pikachu, Arceus presses its forehead against the Ketchum’s chest, further sullying its fur with bloody streaks, looking as if the Legend is wearing upon its head hastily dashed war-paints. 

A soft, trembling whisper: _-Ash, Ash… dearest, hear me. Do not lose yourself!_

Is the Original One capable of crying? It looks like it, but it can just as easily be the tricks of the sunlight glinting off the bloody stains at the corner of its eyes. Dawn cannot ascertain it for herself because the Lake Guardians are back again, their anxious circling around both Arceus and Ash obstructing her views; chattering quickly until their voices blending into one another that there is no telling who is making what sounds. 

_-The roots reach deep. If I pull them out…!_ Arceus shakes its head in frustration, the head-extension whipped about by the toss of its head. In the heat of the moment, gone is Arceus’ subtlety with words – what it is saying is projected to be heard by all who are awake. With the bloody smears remain unattended, it does not take too much imagination for one’s mind to turn the already agitated Arceus into a rabid Pokémon. 

It is Azelf now who dominates the discussion among the Lake Guardians. Arceus listens for a moment or two but in the end, the hope in its eyes vanish under the ferocity borne from helplessness. 

_-My Aura is too raw. Not with him like this. Not by myself…_ An abrupt silence. The waning light in its eyes is instantly rekindled with a new spirit. The expression on Arceus’ face, from what the humans can understand of it, is akin to someone prepared to do something, or die trying. _-…Yes. Mine is too much to bear. I need Life._

It is like saying so gives Arceus all the conviction needed to take the next step. Without warning or explanation, the Alpha Legend raises itself upright, a new purpose gleaming in its eyes and rigidly sewn in the tense setting of its limbs and neck. To Pikachu, it says, _-Come. We need to go to Pangaea._

The Pokémon argues no further and hops onto the valley between Arceus’ shoulders, using the various protrusions along the Legend’s leg as makeshift stairways, leaving a track of bloody paw-prints along Arceus’ side which the both of them ignore. Ash’s condition is an unchallenged priority in their minds – until the last resort is expended, Arceus will go to hell and back to see that Ash, somehow the one human it cares above all else, is recovered. Said young man is now encased in a translucent veil of purplish aura, levitated and carried by the aura-cocoon to be gingerly placed on its back, where Pikachu is already waiting to receive him. 

In that moment, it occurs to Dawn the purposes of these measures. Arceus is leaving for somewhere, and it will not be taking more than Ash and his Pokémon as passengers. 

“Wait!” She shouts, coughing a little as her throat protests further abuses after all those hard yelling, but Arceus pays no heed to her call or the other watchers. She dislodges herself from Brock’s hold, ignoring his shouts as Arceus is ignoring hers, forcing her tired legs to run after the Legendary Pokémon. 

But Arceus is much faster than she can ever be, and urgency is driving its will and body to a singular intention. Rearing on its hind legs, Arceus kicks itself off in a half-leap that becomes a true flight in a just a few strides. Both Ash and Pikachu should have fallen but the purple aura-bubble must be acting like an anchor to Arceus’ back, for the momentum in the launch should have unseated anyone without a good grip. A new portal is opened in the sky, the rims brimming with writhing colours of the rainbows. Like those she has gone through, this one also conceals all hints of its destination by the intermingled masses of colours in its centre. Although truthfully speaking, Dawn does not entertain the notion of being capable to catch up to Arceus, it is still disheartening to see the white, gilded figure disappears into the dimensional portal which itself collapses without a trace as soon as the last glimpse of Arceus has gone into it, carrying with it Ash and Pikachu, off to wherever secret place the Legend believes will be of help. 

The muffled patters of shoe-soles on grasses announce to her the arrivals of Brock, himself slightly out of breath after having run to catch up to her. The warmth and weight of his hand on her shoulder is quietly reassuring, and she sighs without realizing doing so. Her gaze is locked on the sky as if by will and concentration, she may be able to re-trace the undisclosed path Arceus has taken if she can keep at it long enough… 

_-Take heart, Dawn,_ Mesprit is whispering, startling the girl out of her reverie on the empty spot in the sky where the vanished portal was. _-There is no safer place to be than in the Master’s care._

The Master. _Their_ Master. If Mesprit is not referring to Arceus, Dawn cannot imagine what else it may be. “…I hope so.” 

_-Then hold on to that. Believe in the Master. There will be no rest until Ash is whole again._ It is Azelf who speaks this time. _-But for us, we have done what we can._

_-It is time for us to rest. We must go now,_ Uxie says in a tone that is both peaceful and tinged with the slightest remorse. 

“‘Go’?” Brock pipes up, voicing out exactly the word echoing in her mind. In the chaotic aftermath of an even more chaotic incident, the Lake Guardians’ presences are among the countable few which are actually welcoming. “Right now? But –” 

Azelf interrupts, doing so with kindliness rather than impatience. _-We are not as powerful the Master. The healing is taxing to us._

Dawn wants to say something but words refuse to form meaningfully around her feelings. In the end, both she and Brock resort to smiles and simple nods, but the meaning behind them are not lost to the Lake Guardians. Uxie rises to the air and gestures towards the far Northern bank of the lake, where the encircling cliff dips low enough to allow the view of the forest on the other side. 

_-As I have said, this place is hidden from the outside world. But, there is a narrow pass there. You will be able to cross out of Sendoff Spring and return to your homes if you follow it through,_ the Lake Guardian of Knowledge informs them solemnly. _-Until you have passed the cliff, do not call your cohorts. They will not be able to find you as long as you can see the lake._

“We understand,” Brock says and wave at the Lake Guardians already rising effortlessly into the air as if balloons uplifted by a warm draft. 

“And thank you again!” She calls out because the trio is fast shrinking from their view, soon becoming a trio of different-coloured blobs that may be mistaken for something other than the Legendary Pokémon they are. 

Higher they rise; their circling formation unbroken yet spinning faster and faster, heading towards the triage of light-spewing holes that open up in the sky. By now, they recognize that it must be the Lake Guardian’s portals to bring them back to where they have lived all these years in their peaceful slumbers. 

Before they are gone though, their voices reach Brock and Dawn for the last time, as clear as if the speakers are right beside them, _-May we meet again someday._

And then, just like the brief streaks of shooting star, the Lake Guardians vanish into their portals. 

Dawn is quite surprised to find the departures of the Lake Guardians are leaving behind a gaping melancholy within her. It catches up to her like a predator which has stalked and skulked for hours, making the killing leap only when the guards are down and she is at her most vulnerable. The current serenity that the Sendoff Spring enjoys feels mind-numbingly surreal when she should have been at peace – and she knows exactly why this is so. 

“I’m worried about Ash.” 

“Me too… but like Azelf said, we have to believe in Arceus. If there’s anyone who can do something about it, Ash is with the right person.” 

Dawn replays in her mind the hazy memories of her under crisis: when she found herself falling into the Reverse World, when she and Newton were confronted by the Cyrus-Shadow Hoopa ghost and, worst of all, the recent bloodshed from Ash, albeit most definitely being an unintentional one on Arceus’ behalf. If she has not been as collected as she wants to, it is hardly a shame considering the duress involved. It should have been a consolation but to her, it leaves a bitter taste in her conscience that she is capable of so little when Brock, faring only a tad better himself, still manages to keep his wits together to comfort her. 

“…I want to go find him. Wherever he is.” 

“I thought so. I’m going with you, in that case.” He says this casually, like stating the absolute fact that the sun is hot and day follows after night. For her, the straightforward admission is calming, knowing that it is not a Brock-ish thing to make an empty promise. 

It does not seem like a possibility given all the problems standing in her way, the question of Arceus’ unknown destination being the most glaring one. Yet, the Lake Guardians prize them for their qualities and Mesprit had chosen her for her heart. This same heart is now restless, yearning to be of contribution, wanting undisputable assurance that her friend is safe – and if not, well, at least she will not be kept waiting in the dark. 

“…I wish I can trust as easily as you, Brock. You seem so sure, about Arceus carting off Ash and all that.” 

“It’s not like Arceus’s a stranger. Besides, there’s no way Arceus is going to give up after –… Well, I mean, Ash saved it once.” 

Dawn is very tempted to ask why is there a pause in his statement, a pause that sounds too much like an evasion from a topic. She _would_ have asked but someone is pacing up to them: Prof. Rowan, flanked by the Luxray on his left and the Staraptor wheeling above like his personal guardians, still yet reluctant to be returned to their Pokéballs. In her haste to catch up to Arceus, she has not realized how far she has run from the rest of the group, far enough to leave Prof. Rowan panting slightly by the time he reaches her and Brock. 

“So.” He says this like it is a complete sentence and in a way, they do understand the unsaid rest. _So, there’s the end of all the ruckus and how are you kids holding up?_

Dawn wheels around to face him properly. Like Prof. Carolina, he too carries an air around him that compels respect from the people around him though there is also a bit of Newton’s friendliness in there. “Prof. Rowan, are you alright?” 

“Much better, thanks to the Lake Guardians.” A wistful smile comes to his mouth (it is most easily seen by the twitch of his moustache) when he considers Dawn and Brock in front of him. “I’m as alright as can be expected. You young people can handle it much better than me.” 

“Bit of a surprise, if you ask me.” Dawn is making a small laugh – not because it is funny, but perhaps it is the only thing left to do after all of… _that._ She winces a little, realizing that her humourless laugh is not alright but the Pokémon Professor continues to make that longing smile. 

Brock is smiling a little as well. His hand is rubbing absent-mindedly at his left shoulder where the greatest impact of his portal-exiting struck him. “I don’t know, maybe you’re giving us too much credits.” 

“Maybe, maybe not.” A shrewd look glints behind the graveness more prominent in his eyes. “Either way, I’ll wager that you’re going to find Ash after this.” 

Despite all the heart-pulling, much more extraordinary surprises (which are not all benign in nature), Dawn still finds the insight astonishing in its own small ways. Brock, yes, what with her being friends with him in their journeys through Sinnoh but the Pokémon Professor will have to be very emphatic to pick up on that. 

She opens her mouth to ask but Prof. Rowan is quicker with his claim, “What else friends are for? There’s no way you’re going to just sit by like Psyduck with a headache.” 

Prof. Rowan is already convinced of it that answering is a redundancy. It also has the merit of being true and, coupled with their natural respect for the Pokémon Professor, Brock and Dawn nod as if kids prompted to reply by their teacher. 

“I don’t claim knowing what happens, but I have a hunch. It’s the next best thing when it comes to Legendary Pokémon… As much as I want to, I don’t think that Arceus is going to take my searching for it very kindly. I’m not keen on finding that out either. But you – You are different.” He pauses here for a breather but also to look at the two young people in front of him. In that moment, he looks less like a Pokémon Professor than a kindly father. “You’re both linked with the Lake Guardians, like Ash. More importantly, you’re both friends of his. If Arceus cares for Ash, as it seems strongly to be the case, it will at least allow itself being found.” 

“Yes, sir,” comes out in tandem from both Brock and Dawn. They look at each other, stunned for a second or two before Dawn gives a genuine chuckle, not like the nervous laughs she lets out earlier. 

“Now, the only question remaining is where to start.” 

“But we don’t know where.” Brock gestures with his hands in a grandly sweeping arc, in effect indicating just how on Earth are they going to do that if the best they can do is scour random places until they somehow hit the jackpot. 

“If you’ll excuse me giving my two cents then…” The passionate focus he garners in the pause is telling enough that his two cents are wholly appreciated, so he continues, “… if I’m not mistaken, there’s a mention of 'Pangaea' from Arceus.” 

“I heard that too, but –” A shrug says the rest for Dawn’s cluelessness. 

“There is an ancient forest at the edge of Kalos, said to be the remnant of once continent-spanning forest millions of years ago. It is an isolated mountainous region that, for the most parts, is so far and difficult to reach that not many people have been there. It is generally known as the Allearth Forest.” To them, Prof. Rowan sounds like he is going off on an unexpected tangent. Prof. Rowan barges on through their confusion, _“Pangaea_ is an old word which roughly translates to ‘All Earth’.” 

The comprehension brightens their faces like the first light of dawn after the night. The rest of Prof. Rowan’s thoughts are easily extrapolated in their minds. 

“That sounds like a place Arceus will go. Beats me why though.” Brock is content enough to have a name to aim for without resorting to the unrealistic random checking from place to place. Better yet, it is a place on Earth rather than, say, one of the dimensions Sheena once told them when explaining the dynamics of the Legendary Pokémon’s homeworlds, just before all Arceus-Judgment-hell broke loose. 

“Yes. However, I won’t be able to follow you. I have to stay behind and make sure that everything’s alright, with what happened to Carolina and Newton…” Prof. Rowan half-turns on the balls of his feet to momentarily observe the survivors busying about their partners and Pokémon in the background. The explosive show from Arceus has left most of them unnerved, particularly after witnessing its vicious reception towards the ghost. “That said, I’ll ask Augustine to see to your journey. I think he could get you to the nearest town to Allearth, at least.” 

“‘Augustine’? Prof. Sycamore?” 

Nodding a _yes,_ Prof. Rowan is suddenly caught on an unexpected train of thought. Some memories are playing in his mind before he returns to them with an expression of someone about to snag for himself a place in the final round of a League Tournament. “There’s one more thing, and I think it’ll explain some of the puzzles we have on our hand.” 

Any and all information that will aid them in their monumental quest is very much cherished, more so if they come from the Pokémon Professor already highly esteemed when it comes to Legendary Pokémon. Dawn says so to him, to which Brock enthusiastically agrees. 

“There is a rumour surrounding the Allearth Forest – that there lives a creature said to be the physical representation of the cycle of Life. My joint research with Augustine points us to one possibility: A Legendary Pokémon named Xerneas.”


	23. Of Omens And Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In its search for salvation, Arceus reminisces and wonders when it all goes so wrong for them.

_When one had lived through centuries and witnessed events otherwise counted as impossibilities, one tended to think that little could be surprising anymore. Nevertheless, as easily as he had shattered expectations and barraged headlong through traditions, Arceus’ human consort once again proved to be the exception rather than the rule. After all, how can it be conceivable for a mortal Earthling, a simple human without extraordinary gifts – like Sheena or Damos, with their talents to touch their hearts to others – appear right here in its own distant Hall of Origin?_

_Granted, it was Dialga’s power that had enabled him to come but the Timekeeper could as easily refuse Ash’s request as it had accepted it. Ash was not one who favoured string-pulling to achieve his objective… so why would Dialga ignore all of the normal sensibilities to carry Ash through the perilously haphazard Closed Worlds?_

Hah, look who’s talking, _Arceus felt itself chuckling bitterly at the limbo of paradoxes its mind had wandered into. Arceus had not been one to speak about ‘normal sensibilities’ the moment it made its proposal to a human._

_Still, the fact remained._

_Ash was here, in its clandestine Palace of Origin in a bubble-dimension impenetrable to outsiders without Arceus’ will. That simple reality was already throwing Arceus into a confusing mixtures of emotions – chiefly, Arceus was scared for Ash’s well-being after his Dialga-back voyage through the Closed Worlds. It had already reached that breaking point the moment Ash just waved – waved! – from astride Dialga and smiling that easy smile of his (_ Oh, if only he knew those less fortunate to have crossed the dimensions! _) that Arceus was close to chasing them out of its Hall, stopped only by the glaring stupidity in making him face the very dangers which were the source of Arceus’ worry for coming in the first place –_ again.

_On the other hand, the urge to just smother the Ketchum was no less powerful. Arceus was only trying to avoid inconveniencing Ash should it heeded its desire and barged into his life every few days – but it only made Arceus’ attempt to play the role of an understanding and patient spouse failed all the more miserably when Ash practically appeared at its doorstep. Dignity be damned, right then Arceus wanted to cuddle against him so badly and forget all of its worries, now that Ash was safe._

_After all, was not Ash himself disappointed at its scarcity, accusing Arceus of negligence after its month-long absence?_

_Then, just when it felt like everything had been accounted for, Ash began to show signs of flux sickness._ That _had Arceus worried sick. All other issues were promptly swept aside just so Arceus could tend to him properly. Nobody alive had set one’s foot into Arceus’ private bedchamber, and certainly Arceus did not imagine it being done in such hastiness, but there it was. Ash Ketchum the human became the first to breach Arceus' most private space, no preparations arranged whatsoever – in a way, it was no different than the way he breezed into Arceus’ life, coming out of nowhere and putting himself in places Arceus wouldn’t have thought of._

_This nonstop emotional flip-flopping was distinctly unsettling. Arceus was used to pure expressions, not these tangles of emotions and desires tugging it left and right, ultimately leaving it directionless of how to react._

_This confusion was partly the reason it had left Ash to recuperate alone in the bedchamber. It was as much for Ash’s privacy and healing benefits as it was for Arceus’. It needed the time and solitude to arrange itself properly and smooth down the emotional turmoil before it would be able to welcome Ash as was due of it, both as a host and as his mate. Moreover, Arceus had a Timekeeper to consult, and for that it was now heading towards the garden where Dialga had assured would be._

_When Dialga was found, it was resting in the walled pavilion at the left-wing garden, accessed via a different gateway than the one which basically served as the planting garden. Dialga had claimed an arched-roofed shack to recline under. The structure was open on all sides for the greatest viewing range, overlooking the crystal-clear pond with lilypads dotting the surface, pink and white blossoms borne on some of them. Streaks of colours – blues, green, red and white – dart by underwater, sometimes skimming close to the surface that the movements created small ripples which disturbed the smatterings of duckweeds. Sometimes, there were even the brief flashes of glimmering fins breaking the smoothness of the surface before whatever creature causing it would vanish under the clusters of water lilies floating serenely nearby. At the centre of the pond was a quartz-scattered boulder about the height of Arceus’ chest; water was springing out from the open pore at the top of it with soft gurgling sounds, flowed down the rocks-sides and into the pond._

_The water garden was not the only features available in the left-wing garden. However, it was the one most favoured by Dialga compared to other sections and remained so till this day. It was easy to see why: as the fickle Guardian of Time, the unperturbed flow of time had kept Dialga on its proverbial toes constantly but here, the Timekeeper was at complete peace. Remotely, Arceus envied the Temporal Legend’s serenity. However, the closer it approached Dialga, the more its curiosity was drawn to the surface. Just as recklessness was hardly a part of its modus operandi, Dialga would not resort to actions without due justifications. What it might be which have convinced Dialga to be worth risking the dimensional flux on a human was highly interesting and simultaneously worrying to the Original One._

_Sensing its Master’s approach, Dialga broke out of its quasi-meditation and greeted Arceus with a mental touch. The contact allowed a limited glimpse into Dialga’s state of mind: An anxiety lurked within and puzzlement also, which served to sow the same into Arceus._

-How is Ash Ketchum? 

-He would be fine with enough rest, _Arceus replied – it was faintly moved that Dialga would be concerned of the human despite its apprehension, -which brings us to the topic at hand…_

_-Why bring him here in the first place. It was not even intoned as a question._ -Frankly, I’ve had half a mind to just leave him back on Earth. 

-Obviously not the case in the end. I am curious to what would motivate you to such drastic measure. 

-Partly, he was just so _eager_ about it. Human minds are confusing but there was one thing for sure then: he thought of you very loudly.

_Another wave of pleasure washed over Arceus which it quelled from showing too plainly. There would be time enough after this to indulge in Ash’s attention._

-…and I thought it would do well to bring him to you. At the very least, it should give you both a chance to… bond. __

_Well, that was one way of putting it. Arceus might have believed that Dialga did not intend anything else with its choice of word but the insecure avoidance from looking at Arceus right in the eye at the last second told it that the Timekeeper had a less… innocent meaning._

-Dialga.

_Dialga looked like it was trying to feign naivety for a few seconds before deciding against it. It could see in the way Arceus was staring at it and in the utterance of its name demanded the reasoning from it as surely as Arceus would have used a whole sentence._

-It has gone long enough, Arceus. It is time for you to complete the nuptial bond! 

-Haven’t you listen, Dialga? I cannot possibly mate him if he is not ready. 

-He should have been the moment he accepted your proposal. 

_A part of Arceus – the selfish, impatient speck which Arceus was fighting to keep submerged – was agreeing much too eagerly. Arceus hated and feared this weakness, knowing that should it was set loose, Ash would not have a chance to say otherwise._

-He has been very accommodating to me, Dialga. He had tried, but his body is human. __

_Tantalizing memories rose in Arceus’ mind: How Ash had arched and wriggled on the broken throne in the mountain shrine; his voice the sweetest music which Arceus had ever listened to. Arceus had been sorely tempted to join him then, but the combined Aural pressure between them was too overpowering for him, it would have fractured its partner’s psyche if Arceus had continued. Arceus had contented itself with helping Ash reaching his fulfilment and told itself that the rest could –_ must _– wait until Ash was prepared for its Aural inflow._

-Then it is time to try again. Like he had said: It was him who requested to be brought here. __

_Arceus could not deny that the desire did exist in it. Dormant, yes, but all too prepared to surge forward at the slightest hint of welcome, waiting for the time to spring into a full-fledged fire. The mere touch of his hand was enough of a threat to ignite it if Arceus did so much as lowering its guard. Even now, the cinders began to glow; the pull on its fur just before Arceus had left to find Dialga was unforgettable and… exciting. Arceus’ vast reserve for patience meant nil when faced with that particular human._

_It was quite frightening how its thoughts kept wandering back to the matter. In an effort to redirect its mind elsewhere, Arceus decided to focus itself solely on the Guardian of Time._

-I appreciate the concern, but surely you are past your suspicion of his faithfulness? I imagine Ash himself has made it clear. 

-After our time in the Closed World? Of course he did, _Dialga sniffed – looking as though it was trapped between being amazed for his boldness or surprised by the borderline recklessness. A human volunteering to go on a journey to Arceus’ Hall of Origin and passing everything there was in between would be either one or a mix of both. Even if Ash did not know the details of the inherent dangers involved, the onset of flux-induced sickness – his headache, in Ash’s case – would have warned anyone that the road to meet Arceus was a daunting challenge._

_In the meantime, the tip of Dialga’s tail began to twirl restlessly in a tight, fixed circle. To Arceus, it was an obvious sign that something was bothering the Temporal Legend._

-Since Ash has no means of contacting you by himself, I would assume that it was you who came to him. Why? 

_The tail flicked involuntarily, betraying the owner’s surprise. Dialga hung its head low – not in shame, Arceus suspected, but in contemplation on how to proceed with the answering. Dialga would know its Master enough that it would not escape without some sort of reply, not when the question was asked in so direct a manner._

-… I shall be honest, Arceus. It will not be as illuminating as you hope, but it is the best I can tell you. I beg you to bear with the incompleteness. 

_The face which looked back at Arceus was not the stern and prideful Magical Creature which others had come to associate with Dialga. It was very rare for the Legend of Time to allow itself appearing uncertain, but that was exactly the kind of Dialga which stood before Arceus now. Without realizing it, Arceus was already radiating a soothing touch with its mind, a promise that it was not Dialga’s fault if Arceus should be displeased at the end of it._

-I had tried to glimpse Ash’s future – this was when you newly told us of your taking him as consort – __

_Arceus understood the implication and the guilt in Dialga’s eyes. It was a prying driven by its fear that Ash would disappoint Arceus’ expectation, which was a moot point now. Arceus conveyed the encouragement with its mind, and Dialga continued with more ease and confidence:_

-but some of his possible futures… I had premonitions when I tried to See. 

_A brief pause. Dialga shuffled from one foot to another, working to arrange its thoughts into words all the while. The tail spun on._

-… You already know that the future for anyone and anything is complex, dynamic and largely unknowable. But Ash – it felt _wrong,_ somehow. It was a strong feeling, like… like he simply disappeared. 

Arceus felt the chill settling in its core and surrounding its heart. -You are not saying that he will die, do you?

_Though death was not a disappearance, it sounded more like Arceus was trying to deny the Timekeeper than anything._

_Fortunately, Dialga was tossing its head in disagreement._ -No, not death, as far as I can tell… It felt more like when I was trying to sense Palkia in a distant – or severely faded – Closed World. _Disappearing_ is not really correct, come to think of it; he _fades._ He still exists but only as a shadow of his former self. 

_Arceus absorbed the account and let the pieces simmered, trying to filter leads or connections that could be discussed further._

-You brought him here, _Arceus said, trying to wrap its mind around the speculation forming in its head,_ -Is that not what you have felt: Moving through the Closed Worlds? 

-I had something similar in mind at first. I thought that it would be you bringing him to your Hall. But – I have no better explanation for it – it did not feel like that.

_Dialga was right. It_ was _frustrating to hear the scattered pieces without being able to merge them into anything remotely informative. However, Time and all that it brought along in its flow was often a difficult matter to be put into terms, and this was something that even its Guardian could not discern with absolute certainty, much less elaborate to another._

-I can tell you only this much: He does not go into the void. It comes to him. Or pull him in. Here, I will try to emulate it – 

_Dialga was sending into Arceus’ mind a replication of its experience. It felt to Arceus like there was a suction force – an unseen black hole – pulling in a speck of light, representing Ash’s existence – a vividly shining star in its prime age – into its gnawing centre. It was not a perfect or accurate description but it was as close to be when describing Temporal events. Most significantly, it sent across Dialga’s meaning, that the disappearance was unexpected and unlooked-for. It sneaked in and caught him when there seemed to be nothing there, just like black holes were largely unnoticed if one only gave cursory glance, right until it had trapped its target in an inescapable grasp, being most conspicuous only during feeding when the light of its victim was ripped away and ringed its boundary, while its precious materials were swallowed down the bottomless gulf. What was left, if there was anything at all, would still be so slight as to be negligible._

_If it had been that Ash was moved through the Closed Worlds by the virtue of Arceus, Dialga or even Palkia, it would have felt known, not this hazy awareness which pinpointed to nothing particular. Arceus pulled itself away from the immersion and Dialga, understanding the cue, let go of the connection. Its eyes communicated acknowledgement and bewilderment similar to what Dialga was feeling whenever its thoughts were turned towards this conundrum._

-I had assumed him being responsible for it initially. Perhaps after a quick coupling, just to run away and lay low from you. _Dialga’s mouth quirked at the edge in an awkward grimace._ \- It was absurd, I know. I should have known better, but I was consumed by worry then. I still am, actually. 

-…Oh, it was absurd, all right. 

_Instead of being furious, Arceus was inclined to be astonished how Dialga’s paranoia would devise such an impossibly zany and complex scheme. In truth, Arceus was feeling a little… dumbfounded by the extent of Dialga’s accidental imagination._

-…I guess I owe him an apology for that. 

-I do not think that will be necessary. Ash is not one to hold grudges. He may have already forgotten all about it. _Dialga’s shame was difficult not to be sympathized with, not to mention that it was, as the humans said, water under the bridge._ -In any case, you did bring him here. As much as I have been worried, he is here and safe as can be hoped. 

For now _popped into its mind but Arceus quelled the bleak appendance away. There were already enough seeds of worry planted in it after the revelation, Arceus did not need to tarnish the one pleasant thing which happened to it…_

_  
_

_*_

__  


True enough, the seeds grow too well to its liking. Whenever Arceus had looked at Ash, it could feel the roots burrowed a little deeper and its heart beat faster. At the same time, Arceus neither could nor should inform Ash of the source of its anxiety – it would not be fair for the peace of his mind and, more gravely, insights into the future is a rare gift that even Dialga the Timekeeper sparingly chooses to interact with. If Dialga had been worried, being imparted the knowledge plunged Arceus in near-constant suspicion and thoughtfulness of what would cause Ash’s future to follow the bleak-ended path, so that Arceus may catch it in time to prevent it coming to pass.

As it happened, Ash did successfully persuade Arceus to mate. Arceus had been cautious each time, worried that the Fading, as Dialga had described it, was actually caused by their ‘activities’ eventually taxing Ash’s limits to withstand their mingled Auras but Ash proved to be able to cope better than it expected. However, the Original One was reluctant to push its luck and Ash’s boundaries, and so it had decided much sooner than preferable to return Ash to the Earthly Realm. At least, his native world would be more accommodating to his conditions than Arceus’ Hall of Origin, where Arceus had suspected that the cosmic energy that it fed off was too saturated for Ash’s body to adapt without gradual familiarization. Neither was Arceus’ growing lust for him helped the already delicate matter – with him being in its home, there was an almost mystical influence which urged Arceus wanting for more and more and so much more… 

But that was not quite it either. 

There were alarming signs, of course, but for being bonded to the Original One, Ash performed surprisingly well during or after the act, showing astonishing tolerance – for a human, at least – of the pressure from a Legend-level Aura. When even their return trip to Earth failed to bring the dreaded Fading upon the Ketchum, Arceus was not only hopeful but rather convinced that they had escaped the possibilities of it in Ash’s future. It had seemed like a reasonable assumption to make when they had passed the riskiest leg of the journey through Palkia’s Crossing unscathed. 

Obviously, the unconscious, empty shell of a human that Ash Ketchum currently is proves what dreadful mistake Arceus has committed in thinking so. 

Instantaneously, Arceus’ reminiscences are broken when it feels the sorrow within it threatening to spill forth in an anguished cry. Arceus chokes on the unbecoming sounds fiercely, feeling its heart burning with the pain of withholding it all inside, and swallowed them into the furthest reach of its throat. Arceus does not even feel like it is entitled to respite if only to let out the welling grief; that is not a right it can claim, not when it is Arceus’ negligence which has caused it in the first place. All that is left to it is an eerie sombreness which Arceus has taken to adopt in its every manner and expression, denying itself even the relief of self-expression whilst the storm of misery rages on unmercifully on the inside. 

Thusly Arceus has been mostly silent ever since leaving Sendoff Spring with its precious passengers on its back. Pangaea – Allearth forest nowadays, if Arceus remembers correctly – comes across as an uncannily accordant setting to the graveness of Arceus’ predicament. On the surface, Allearth is a forest not so vastly dissimilar from other lush wildernesses which have sprung to life all around the Earth. However, give it a deeper observation than the eyes can see, one will perceive the differences: like many ancient places, the forest holds memories accumulated from its inhabitants and visitors from the many ages it had existed, being homes to many creatures and tombs to countless of unseen others. Even the air feels ‘heavy’ with the lingering memories of times gone by, yet still vibrantly expectant of more to come. If death and life are to mingle together in one place, the aged forest will be one of the few places apt to house such polar presences. 

Which, as Arceus suspects from past knowledge and its sweeping mental prodding around the forest, is exactly the case. 

The basin-like waterfall which Arceus has come to land beside roars out in its crashing waves and foamy sprays, swallowing other sounds as rising tide inundates the lower shores. Arceus chooses a spot near the bank where a slower-flowing brook has been created by a collection of rocks and boulders, which jut out from the frothy courses of the main river. Here, Arceus carefully lowers Ash onto the ground, its purplish manipulative aura being the gentlest Arceus has ever done, that if Ash is awake he would have felt only feathery touches supporting the back of his head, his arms, back and legs. However, he remains depressingly unresponsive that only by the breaths he still inhales and exhales – though even that is much too faint and too infrequent – it is known that his body still lives. 

On the other hand, while he may be here physically, Arceus cannot honestly tell the same for his mind. After all has been said and done, the much-feared Fading comes to pass after all… 

The ghost’s possession and traumatic departure eventually finish the deterioration put in motion by his flux sickness and his abrupt sojourn in the Hall of Origin. Reaching into his mind now yields nothing but sensations comparable to drifting down a long, claustrophobically narrow and pitch-black tunnel which robs the senses of anyone trying to navigate its lightless interior, leaving only one’s touch to be the guide. Arceus’ call for Ash is answered only by the hollow echoes of its own voice. There is no candle to illuminate the tunnel, that little light which warms the coldness and greets Arceus’ touch with the comfortable and invigorating presence that is Ash Ketchum. If he is still there, whatever it is that the ghost has forced upon him – pain, fear, sorrow, whichever – has caused him to withdrawn far too deep within himself, so much so that he may well be lost at the edge of Waking right now… 

Pikachu clambers down from Arceus’ back in two bounds, using the collared fringes halfway down Arceus’ left front leg to break his descent from becoming a numbing fall. The rodent dashes off to the protected brook, almost frantic in his splashing to be rid of the oppressive scent and the feeling of his fur stuck together in the drying blood. His short paws scrub the face, ears and tails, where the coagulated blood sticks more stubbornly. Arceus follows in the Pikachu’s initiative after ensuring Ash’s positioning to be comfortable – he will not be able to feel a thing, but Arceus will _not_ let it hamper its treatment of him – and wades into shallows. Diluted blood washed off their furs dyes the currents a sickly dark red, like something infected, and carrying off for a few short seconds a metallic smell, like copper or tin with an aftertaste of rancidness. Arceus submerges its face underwater for a few seconds before tossing its head up and backwards with a sharp jerk, splashing waters on its head, neck and a chest. Arceus does this a few times, then lowers its torso into the water to let the flowing water rinses the more persistent messes until all of the filths are washed off its body. Still, though its fur is now returned to its original whiteness, if thoroughly drenched, phantasmal sensations linger in its nostrils and tongue. The cloying taste and scent has been overpowering that it is as though Arceus’ senses refuse to let go of them. Huffing in exasperation, Arceus reaches over to the faster flowing current on the other side of the protective rocks and scoops up mouthfuls of water which it guzzles down as if someone who has been thirsty for long time. It helps a little, but gulping down more will no longer banish the minuscule remains of the unpleasantness. Unused to drinking so fast and in any considerable quantity, Arceus’ throat is a little bit sore – _enlarged,_ it feels like – and it resigns to enduring what it cannot rinse off. 

Off on the riverbank, Ash lays as still as death save for his breathing; showing no changes for better or worse. 

He is not dead, not yet, but if nothing is done he may as well be. Ash’s mortality lies with his physical body that still requires sustenance as any living being; without food or water, his biological body will deteriorate as he slumbers on until it simply shuts down, ultimately leading to the inevitable death. Arceus can, in a way, substitute the basic nourishment with its life-sustaining Aura at the cost of its own – much like creating the land-healing Jewel of Life diminishes its strength when being parted from its Plates. Arceus would have done so with utmost gladness… if only it is an option right now. The bloody mess Arceus has just washed off is testament to its failure. 

For something the likes of the ghost of Cyrus and Shadow Hoopa, Legendary Auras are to it as light is to moths: Alluring, yet dangerous when one strays too close, hence its search for the weakened residues in humans instead. Arceus, being the Original One, is as pure and undiluted as the ghost’s Aural presence is corrupted: The absolute antithesis to Arceus’ essences, a considerable amount of which Ash has absorbed in the Hall of Origin and acquired in exchanges during his nuptial bonding with Arceus. In trying to infuse Ash with more to draw out the ghost’s taints in the same manner it did to the Unown in Solaceon Ruins, Arceus has instead pushed the conflicting forces to the breaking point: The ghost’s leftover Aura is darker and more volatile than its days of Unown-hunting and, in rejection of something so opposite of its own, has reacted explosively and punishingly in the already taxed human. 

Arceus rises out of the river, causing miniature rains underneath in its passing, while Pikachu jumps onto the bank and shakes itself vigorously from head to tail, flinging fine droplets in twisting sprays. As best as it can, Arceus carefully wets Ash’s blood-sullied clothing so that the worst of it will be washed away; then, carefully using the still-wet fur on its head, Arceus rubs off the Ketchum’s face to reveal the pallid skin under the layer of caked filth, all the while taking care that the waters do not stray into his nostrils and drown him instead. The fabric is much harder to work with than skin, so there are still red blotches on Ash’s shirt by the time Arceus satisfies itself with the cleanness of his face and washes itself off for the second time. For the time being, it is as best can be done for his cleanliness without losing sight of the bigger picture. After all, Arceus has come to Allearth not for dilly-dallying; there are specific reasons why this is its destination, all in the hope of saving Ash from this unusual fate. 

For that, Arceus expands its mental probing far into the forest, investigating every cave, every track, and every branch on every tree; coursing the water-flows from spring to the main river; its prodding thoughts reaching out from the towering peaks to the sloping valleys. Uncountable creatures sweep by in Arceus’ inspection, Magical Creatures and regular beasts alike, but what it is searching for is a particular presence, most easily noticed by the resplendence of its Fairy Aura. 

Arceus _did_ find one such Aura although more muted than the Alpha Legend is hoping it to be. All the same, it stirs hope in that the emanation itself is unmistakable as to originate from the Legend who watches the balance of life. 

Xerneas is here somewhere. The elderly forest is invigorated by its presence in ways unachievable by other wildernesses. It can be easily detected in the smooth flow of the life energy which permeates the living things inhabiting the forest unhindered. From there, although it takes quite an amount of concentration to untangle the criss-crossing flows which have become tightly-knitted networks, nevertheless it is a relatively simple matter to trace down the origin of the Fairy Aura to its location. Arceus summons the Pikachu aboard and replaces Ash on its back, again making sure that the two are securely seated before departing. This time, Arceus only rises high enough to escape the confinements of the trees, in fact its hooves occasionally graze the leaves of the topmost canopy throughout its flight. 

Stirred by the presence of a fellow Legend, Xerneas’ mind is slowly roused the more Arceus concentrates its mind’s sight on following the faint trail of life energy back to its origin. 

Whereas its Dragons’ minds are vast and broiling with power, Xerneas’ is serene and quiet despite rivalling the enormity of the former. It calls to wary souls with promises of security and peace, inciting the urge to leave behind all worries to settle down, lay one’s head on the ground and simply rest the fatigue away as though it is a personification of a Lapras’ enchanted songs. It would have been tempting in any other times but now, even while Arceus tries to conform to the gentler nature of the other, the Life Guardian’s persuasiveness recedes in the face of the Alpha’s overpowering Aura and the mind which accompanies it. The peaceful stream of Xerneas’ mind churns into a monsoon river; the Sirenian call is silenced to be replaced by curiousity and worry. The sleep-hazed thoughts contain no words but Arceus nevertheless senses the questions underlying them. 

Arceus does not answer immediately; instead pressing onward ever more determined to reach the Keeper of the Forest. Something as dire and important as this requires a proper explanations and not exchanged fleetingly like a forgettable gossip. Searching with its mind’s eye, Arceus successfully locates the wellspring of the life energy… which, as it so happens, is a tree. 

But even a passing glance will reveal that this tree is like no other. 

A mundane sight will see that the ivory-pale trunk is much too thick, the branches spreading out less like a tree’s limb and more like humanoid hands brought together in a silent prayer, possessing eight fingers which bifurcate further into smaller twigs, fourteen separate tips all in all. Girthy, sturdy roots anchor it at the top of a mound in a small clearing amidst the heavy-leafed trees common to the forest, before which a sparkling watered-creek flows in whispery gurgles and burbles, itself reminding Arceus of the genteel, soothing nature of the Forest-Legend. Sunlight stream down from the clouds and pierce through the leaves as if in blessing of the lonely tree which it washes upon in brilliant golden rays. Though the forest is alive and teeming with creatures, for the time being a hushed silence reigns over the usual chirps, barks and mewls of its inhabitants the moment Arceus’ hooves come in contact with the ground. 

It takes a while for Xerneas to gather about it sufficient consciousness and focus for the interaction that Arceus is requesting for. It begins with a soft glow which seems to have their sources from under the tree’s smooth bark; the light which radiates out gathers together into a semi-tangible outline of a cervid creature, filling the inside with glittering specks that chase about each other like the flight of Volbeats and Illumise. The towering pair of antlers, of which the tree’s forked branches originate from, is impressive even though currently they are mere mirages of the real ones which would have adorned Xerneas in its original stag Forme. In Neutral Mode the arboreal repose has imposed upon it, the multi-coloured crystals entwining the length of the tines are rendered uniformly blue, darker than the soft sky-blue shades of its racks. 

The ethereal avatar of Xerneas lowers its antlered head in reverence before Arceus, courteous greetings whispered in its pleasingly tranquil voice, _-My lord Arceus, I bid you the heartiest of welcomes._

True to its nature, Xerneas’ inherent Fairy Aura is extended so as to parallel its words with hospitable reception, coming not from the illusion of the stag but rather from the tree itself. Arceus acknowledges the extra effort with a gentle swell of its own Aura, letting the edges intermingle momentarily with the Fairy emanations from the Life Legend. Unable to truly bask in it the way Arceus does, nevertheless Pikachu does possess the basic perceptions to perceive their unseen salutations, being more sensitive than those of average humans. His greetings are less formal and refined, but the sincerity is not any less than that shown by his Legendary steed. This surprises Xerneas whose attention is occupied by the more prominent presence of the Original One. However, there is no unpleasantness to be found once Xerneas has recovered itself and offers its acknowledgement; but the silence that emerges afterwards is introspective when Xerneas’ observation falls squarely on the Pikachu. 

_-I felt like I have known you before, little_ meallán _…_ the pupils of Xerneas’ avatar narrow down and dilate intermittently as thoughts race by in its mind and out into the real world, half-inquiring and half-monologuing, _-Yes, I have definitely sensed you before._

Syllables of _pika_ and _chu_ answer the deer-Legend’s inquiry, self-introductory at first before launching into narratives of his previous encounter with Xerneas – then still a free-moving, cervid-formed Legend roaming the depths of Allearth, making for an elusive yet desperately sought-after target which compelled Diancie out of her dying realm. It was coincidental at best that they should meet with the princess of Diamond Kingdom, but nearly all of his adventures with Ash had begun in similar fashions. All these are told whilst Pikachu navigates Arceus’ front right leg down to the forest floor, where the prone Ash is being carefully laid down at the feet of Xerneas’ avatar, mere few steps away from its tree-forme’s roots. 

_-Well, now this is rather intriguing… Yes, I do remember Princess Diancie’s quest. You were there as well when the forest rotted away, weren’t you?_

Pikachu answers that, yes, they were present during the decay brought about by Yveltal’s Oblivion Wing, and that Pikachu himself would have remained a stone statue to this day if not for Xerneas’ sacrifice. Pikachu’s tail waves guiltily when he mentions Xerneas’ transformation into the tree-forme it is now, and how doing so release the petrified victims out of Yveltal’s curse. 

_-Everything has its place and time, little_ meallán _… It was simply time for the beginnings of new lives in exchange of mine._ Saying this with none of the regrets normal persons would have felt should they were forced to give up their lives, Xerneas gestures with its muzzle at the proud, leafless branches of the towering tree. _-It is my Fate that I shall take roots here to slumber, so here I am. Tell me, then: What Fate has brought you to me, here and now?_

Ash’s positioning leaves no room for doubt that he is the reason of their coming. In the same breath, Xerneas also perceives that Pikachu is simply following Ash, and that begs the question to Arceus who carries the human here in the first place. The stag’s shifted attention from Pikachu to the Alpha Legend speaks of this plainly, so Arceus steps forward to take over Pikachu’s role in the answering. 

_-I am here to ask for assistance that only you can give, and I will BEG for it if that is what it takes._

Xerneas is taken aback. Knowing Arceus’ natural pride, only the direst needs would have brought the Legend down to such measures – and all for this seemingly ordinary human. Prudence would have left the questions at the bottom of the priority, content only in the knowledge which is offered without prompting. However, all things combine to bring out an unquenchable interest in the Forestkeeper, who speaks next with the care akin to treading a rickety bridge spanning a chasm whose depth would have brought a fatal drop to anyone unfortunate to slip off. 

_-No such thing is needed, my lord. Whatever you require of me, I will give to the best of my ability. However… I am curious why –_

_-His name is Ash Ketchum, and he is my consort._

Both of them knows that jesting is beyond Arceus’ normal conducts, but still it is difficult for Xerneas to digest this piece of a very unexpected insight. Despite the considerable reactions Arceus has previously received when revealing it to Dialga, Palkia and Giratina, Arceus has been hoping that this minor obstacle can be overcome rather quickly with Xerneas, and so waits with diminishing patience for the stag-Legend to arrange its disassembled thoughts in the aftermath. Honestly, is it unthinkable that the Original One desires love and companionship? And a human for a mate… unorthodox, perhaps, but surely it should not have been so inconceivable – they are no less feeling than the Legends or the Magical Creatures. Xerneas, of all Legends beyond Arceus’ immediate sovereignty, should have known this as naturally as that of life and death… 

_-Now do I need to beg?_

_-N-no, my lord…_ Xerneas’ nervousness parallels Dialga, in some way. More questions are waiting answers than what Xerneas allows to be seen on its stance, but thankfully the Forestkeeper withholds the flood. 

_-What help can I give you?_

_-I need your powers to share Life, Xerneas._

_-My lord?_ Now the restlessness becomes more pronounced. The avatar shimmers when the words fade and coalesces again when Xerneas continues, _-If you seek to conquer death… if he had died of natural cause –_

 _-Your short-sightedness is insulting._ Arceus says, voice low with from the tempered edges of indignity that comes much too close to fanning its wrath – to be thought of as unforgivingly reckless so as to abandon all respect to the cycle of life and death and impede upon the untouchable realm beyond living… _-I know the limits. If his Fate is death, right here, right now, then I will let go of him, and I will mourn his departure. But it is not. Not YET. Feel him for yourself, Guardian of Life!_

Immediately, Xerneas does as bidden – not really out of any need to confirm the assertion but to ascertain for itself the predicament the human has been thrust into. Silently, Xerneas prods into the blankness in Ash’s head, a small sound eventually escaping the otherwise silent Guardian when it withdraws, having glimpsed all that it can from the young man. 

_-My lord, a home so bruised and battered will scarcely be habitable. His soul hides from the suffering of the body. He needs healing… more than what I can give in my current Forme._

_-I know. That is why I am now before you. The problem is not that I am deficient, but that I am too… overwhelming, considering how he is now. What I need from you is not Life, but your mediation to bind my Life to him without hurting his soul._

_-…Truly, he is a fortunate man to have claimed your attention,_ Xerneas murmurs, bringing its antlers nearly parallel to the ground in adopting the low bow before Arceus. Although its eyes are not moved from being on Arceus’ countenance, it can be felt that Xerneas’ Aura is caressing the prone human in an honest gesture of fascination. _-My Lord Arceus, as it is an honour to be of use to you, so it shall be with him._

The tree behind the stag-avatar shivers when the latter is done speaking. As the cervid Xerneas seemingly falls into a trance, activity shifts to the tree itself. From one of the arching branches, a luminescent tendril grows forth and slowly sneaks down the trunk, searching for Ash whose fingers it envelop upon coming into contact with and coating the limb from fingertips to the wrist in fine silvery meshes. Intense concentration follows the deer’s trance; the silver netting around Ash’s hands pulse along the strands with small beads of light. Perhaps an hour passes in in this manner – for the long-living Arceus who was once used to count times with the rise and fall of civilizations, the span of time should have been nothing but the burden of its thoughts, fleshed ever more clearly in the restlessness of the Pikachu, has made the waiting almost unbearable. Thus it is with paradoxical cocktail of relief and anxiety floods through it when Xerneas finally lifts its eyes from the ground. 

Having prepared itself for the next step all these while, Arceus needs no further encouragement to proceed, gently nudging the electric rodent away from the human he desperately cuddles against; unspoken assurance is radiated alongside its Aural emanation. Pikachu stares on, hope and helplessness evident in his eyes glassy with restrained tears. 

_-I cannot promise, ‘all is well’. However, I can promise that I will do everything in my power to that end._

Arceus dislikes the bitter honesty, though acknowledging that to tell it, is better than to give promise to what it cannot guarantee. Thankfully, Pikachu is understanding of the dilemma and steps aside as advised, allowing Arceus to step forward until the muzzle of Xerneas’ avatar is easily reachable with its forehead if Arceus extends its neck a little. Between the front legs it has carefully splayed to accommodate the human, Ash lies deceptively peaceful in his endless slumber. To him, Arceus spares a moment to listen to the weak beating of his heart and blow away the dried fringes of his hair away from his eyes, though just as quickly Arceus wrenches its attention away – it is too much to bear to look at the peaceful-looking face while knowing that time is against him. 

_-Proceed,_ Arceus declares, and the tendril wrapped around Ash’s hand answers the Alpha Legend’s command, branching out into another channel that reaches for Arceus. The slender end splits into countless minuscule roots upon touching the Alpha’s chest; prickling their fine, yet needle-sharp ends into its hide, though no pain accompanies the penetration. Anchoring themselves under the skin, their radial spreading is faintly luminous through Arceus’ ventral dark grey furring but the growth halts as soon as the root-like meshes reach about the size of Pikachu. Glowing buds of various colours – from exotic gold and silver to blue, yellow, red and green tiny light-spheres – throbs from the tips and along the main tendril, whereupon reaching the fork between that which leads back to either Xerneas’ branch or Ash, they unfailingly divert their course to the latter to join the glowing buds already coursing along the glowing capillaries around Ash’s hand. 

_-Lord Arceus…?_ Xerneas whispers worriedly whilst Arceus begins to shudder as the first few trickles from its Life are released into the strands. 

_-…be careful with him, please,_ Arceus answers, heedless of its own fare. For a few worrying seconds, Arceus’ legs sway uncertainly, threatening collapse, but before either Xerneas or Pikachu can bring the fact to attention Arceus has regained its balance easily – in fact, looking as though there has never been the tiniest moment of weakness. It seems successful although for the sake of its own mind Arceus requests the other to confirm the situation. 

_-It commences most successfully, my lord,_ Xerneas the stag-illusion replies, its eyes following the course of the branch-sourced tendril to Arceus, and then to Ash whose hand now is encased in light, collective of the hundreds of Arceus’ donations mingling into those already there, flowing along the threads covering the limb. However, there is a careful silence from the Forestkeeper that hides a discouraging tentativeness. 

_-Xerneas, if you have any concerns…_

_-His body can live for several years like this but if his soul remains dormant – if he is even still there, to begin with… he was hurt too deeply, I doubt he will return on his own…_

Pikachu, sensing and seeing that the moments of uncertainty are jumping into another but unable to refrain himself anymore, approaches the Ketchum and settles down beside him, examining with wide eyes the soft lights pulsing throughout their coursing through the connective tendril. Looking at them both, Arceus re-experiences the shame and anger at its own short-sightedness which has caused Ash and his friend this grief; next to them, Arceus’ own feelings seem like a drop in the sea of shared affection between the human and Magical Creature. The course of action is clear to it even though the prospect of success may not be as much – It is not quite advisable with Arceus already positioning itself as Ash’s wellspring, but shirking from this responsibility or giving up the efforts pre-emptively will paint the darkest shame and regret in Arceus’ conscience, the kind which will not fade with age but thrive through it. 

Arceus is not a despicable necromancer who blindly seek to master the lost dead, but anything else doable in its powers that do not blaspheme the sacredness of life and death presents itself as a possible answer. In a matter-of-factly voice whose faint rasps betrays instead its attempt at calmness, Arceus declares, _-I will Awaken him myself._

Xerneas appears quite ready to voice out all the concerns which has initially crossed Arceus’ mind, but being the Guardian of Life it recognizes the unpersuaded sureness which has pervaded the Original One’s Aura, visible also in the stern light of its eyes. In the end, Xerneas can only manage, _-Forgive me for not being able to do much more than wishing you the best of luck._

To Arceus’ surprise, the avatar of Xerneas strides forth and rests its immaterial muzzle against the Alpha’s neck. The warmth it radiates it only a crafted illusion solely for Arceus’ comfort, it knows this, but the sensation is no less welcoming even with the insight. The antlers brighten suddenly into golden tinges and the embedded crystals glow in their prismatic hues of Xerneas’ life-sharing Active Mode, though only in a few moments the brilliance passes away. 

_-…You make me wonder, my lord. HE makes me wonder. For a human’s fragile life to compel your dedication…_ Xerneas retreats, sighing with the illusion of its stag-body and the quiet rustling as though wind is blowing through the tree’s leafless branches as its gaze falls upon the light-wrapped Ketchum. _-...and for him to sacrifice a normal living to return your love… how impressive._

Arceus is aglow inside by the compliments for the Ketchum… but there is also an uncomfortable stirring in the depth of its chest. Guilt settles in its mind like the arrival of night, cold and impenetrable, but with much difficulty Arceus forces itself to push the nagging concerns aside. This is not the time to ponder on anything less than helpful in recovering Ash to the world of the living. 

_-I do not know for how long I need to search for him. I ask little else of you now, save that you keep an eye on him and his Pikachu when I am gone._

Pikachu pipes up an encouraging note at the mention of his name, and pads up to Arceus’ feet which he nuzzles as though to give Arceus the same wish as that voiced earlier by Xerneas. He is answered with a soft, grateful crooning from the Original One, who re-shifts its stance into preparation to enter a meditation of its own. Arceus needs to be calm for the ease of transition, though now a worrying maggot of thought nibbles its devious ways into the Legend’s mind with alarming potency. No higher priority exists than to try bringing Ash back to the surface, back from the well of blackness that has trapped his consciousness when he had tried to flee the ghost’s pain, or anger, or fear… 

_If only I had not left,_ Arceus reflects, the thought prickling its thorns into the Legend’s conscience mercilessly. There should be nothing regrettable in saving the Unown’s life… but still Arceus wonders, and in wondering, Arceus begins to fear. 

_Please… do not hate me,_ Arceus whispers, carrying the prayer along into its meditation as it seeks through the numbing, unlighted void that has overtaken what was once the friendly and convivial warmth of Ash Ketchum.


	24. Mourning Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If there is something his friends have learned from Ash, it is his persistence - and they need all that they have as they scour Allearth Forest in search of him.

When it awakes, it is to a domed sky dominated by a sullen moon, surfaces littered with craters a little too visible than what it feels to be normal. The gigantic sphere reigns supreme over the blue-grey sky, their colours striking frightening contrasts with each other. There are clouds, thin and wispy, but they are too little to do much in shielding the ground below from its sickly rays, painting everything under the sky with eerie red tinges, as though becoming ill under its unforgiving glare. 

It awakes to this world without memories, but it knows that there are knowledge missing. Its head(?) throbs dully with worrying reminders of the loss, though of what, it is none the wiser. 

It forces its fatigued body, though only _just_ now it realizes of being in possession of it, to sit upright, complete with a pair of legs to be crossed over one another as if meditating, in the manner of ancient hermits seeking enlightenment in a world beyond the normal, though the similarity passes completely over the newly awakened being’s mind. What catches its attention, once the sky has been identified (and consequently decided to be a deeply unsettling sight), the being begins to perceive the surroundings more on its level, though to its disappointment an equally dismal sight welcome its gaze. A desert of some sort, the terrains of towering dunes and transient valleys are made of minute, crystalline sand, in fact being so fine that the handful which it scoops into its hand (five fingers, blunt nails a little ragged at the edges, calloused palm… the limb feels _familiar,_ somehow) sifts through the fingers like the softest silk. Perhaps the sand is actually white but in the moon’s unforgiving light, the desert is an endless stretch of rising and dipping rusty sort of orange. There is nothing on the horizon on either ends but another range of sand-hills and drastic lows of valleys, interchangeable from one moment to another by faraway breeze that does not reach here. 

Past those – Nothing. 

The being is aware of a new feeling. Loneliness creeps in, and it begins to wonder if there have been times when it was surrounded by others; family, or companions, or friends, or… 

The hammering in its chest brings it to awareness of the presence of a beating heart, or what passes for it anyway. Something is not right, that being a certainty as much as it being certain that alone is not how it should be. It has relations, other individuals surrounding him, those family and friends and companions and acquaintances – 

_“Who am I?”_ The musing is thought, and being done that, a voice inquires, startling the being. A hand comes up, reaching up to its face and touching the slightly opened slit – a mouth – which has asked the question: Its own. 

But the question floats unanswered in the moonlit night, and the silence which has been briefly interrupted returns with ever more deafening stillness. The moon glares haughtily, mocking the being’s confusion from its high seat and remains as uncomfortably _there_ as ever as if secure in its power and place where no day may break its reign. 

  


*****

  


Though the extensive depth of Allearth Forest is oftentimes dizzying, for the moment Dawn is grateful that the trees rise high enough and bear numerous leaves to shield the forest-floor and those walking upon it from the harsh sunlight. It does not seem like it, but Kalosian noon sun should not be underestimated – she has lost count for the many number of times she has wiped her sweaty forehead with the increasingly drenched handkerchief. 

Brock fares little better, though fortunately both of them are properly attired to the climate as was warned by Prof. Sycamore. The Pokémon Professor himself is in similar clothing mode – He has shrugged off the jacket he had worn during the colder hours of the morning, travelling now in khaki pants and cotton shirts, his hair tied back in a messy ponytail which still leaves stray fringes here and there, a bag-pack slung over his shoulders and carried as though it weighs less than its bulk suggests. Having met him in his air-conditioned office, starched-white lab coat over his blue shirt, he appears surprisingly at ease in the forest – though, on a second thought, it shouldn’t have been all that surprising. All notable Pokémon Professors have, to varying degrees, acquainted themselves to field works, and the Kalosian professor is not to be an exception. 

It is both rudeness and inevitable to keep Prof. Sycamore in the dark, thus he alone becomes the only one outside of the original survivors of the Shadow Hoopa-Cyrus’ ghost who knows what have transpired, informed over conversations via Holocaster by Prof. Rowan, a week ago. He has received the news with shock at first, then everything becomes a little mixed between giddiness and concerns over the circumstances which has led them into consulting with Prof. Sycamore – on one hand, reports of Legendary Pokémon are universally welcomed news among the Pokémon Professors no matter in what fields they majored in; on the other, the fact that Ash Ketchum, someone he knows personally and remembers with good regards from his days of Kalos-exploring, now lost in the depth of an ancient woods few people now enter for whatever reasons, is alarming. The spiritedness with which he had agreed to Prof. Rowan’s request to at least guide her and Brock into the entrance of the forest has been surprising. Furthermore, Dawn has sensed an unspoken, yet fundamental respect for the older professor from Prof. Sycamore. 

At the moment, he and Brock are consulting a rough map of Allearth forest, as much as remote sensing equipment has managed to compile. It is not totally foolproof but is nevertheless better than going in blind; and where technicalities fail, more than once Prof. Sycamore’s ‘gut feelings’ have been taken into account to guide them out of whatever mess they have currently landed themselves. 

“This here is Diamond Domain, if I am not mistaken,” the professor is saying thoughtfully, finger circling in a seemingly inconspicuous patch on the holographic display from Prof. Sycamore’s Holocaster. 

“So, this is where we are, right? Here, at the Southwestern boundary between the forest and – Diamond Domain, you say?” 

_“Oui,_ but if we are to go round this –” Prof. Sycamore loses himself in further pondering of the translucent graphics and scratches his chin absent-mindedly. 

The forest proves to be a daunting maze to navigate through. Although Prof. Sycamore has helped narrow down their search perimeter from the hundreds of square kilometres of the forest to an area the size of Castelia City, it is still head-aching to carry out their objective in the easily disorienting forest even with Prof. Sycamore’s familiarity with forest trekking. Concluding from Prof. Rowan and their inputs, Prof. Sycamore has targeted his priority areas by surmising that Arceus will not be leaving Ash’s side if the fierce protectiveness it had displayed towards him is of anything indicative; and seeing that its purpose in coming to Allearth is Xerneas, it is logical to assume that Arceus will therefore be in its proximity. It sounds like a plan to them, but Prof. Sycamore has profusely apologized for making those (necessary) leaps in conclusions, owing to their already limited materials to go by. 

To which Brock had replied, “Our plan is basically a) get to Allearth Forest; and b) find Ash. Any plan of yours will be better than what we’ve got.” 

That said, Prof. Sycamore is still not entirely comfortable with their minimal arrangements and resorts to deep thoughts every now and then, in case there is something beneficial he may come up on the spot. According to him, their best bet on finding Ash will be where Xerneas is likeliest to be found – at an obscure place somewhere in the forest where, in a catastrophic incident about ten years ago, Xerneas had sacrificed its mobile life to save the forest, henceforth transformed into a tree after expending its Life forces to neutralize the damages Yveltal had wrought. 

“How do you know this, Professor?” Dawn had asked, her awed silence throughout the Pokémon Professor’s account broken finally. “It sounds like you were there.” 

_“Non jamais,_ if only. I was at my lab in that time.” Prof. Sycamore had then cast them a curious glance, as though trying to believe something that is only explainable through rather outrageous coincidences. “But my acquaintances were there to relay their first-hand sight, and one of them happens to be none other than Ash Ketchum.” 

They were inclined to share Prof. Sycamore’s curiousity at first, though with only exchanged glances between them, both she and Brock realized that these sorts of things are the norms where Ash is concerned. They were themselves dragged from one adventure to another, Legendary Pokémon’s involvement optional of course, during their region-trotting in Sinnoh with the Ketchum. That the same things happen when he was in Kalos was amazingly improbable, but not entirely impossible. 

In return, seeing the resignedly knowing looks on their faces, Prof. Sycamore had sighed with envy, _“Va savoir pourquoi!_ It seems he has quite the life he is living!” 

Prof. Sycamore had proceeded to make preparations on their then-upcoming expeditions, muttering something here and then, but Dawn cannot quite get the rapid Kalosian he spouted. Similarly, Dawn tries to follow his mutterings whilst he analyses the map but her attention is fished away by the tugging on her folded sleeve – Gogoat, one of the three which they had borrowed from a nearby town’s ranch for their transportation. Though walking is a perfectly viable mode of travel in the jungle, owing to the uncertainties of their situations, a trio of the Pokémon, chosen mainly for their exceptional manoeuvrability among their brethren to navigate the forested terrain, have been made as their mounts, supply-carriers and – should the need arise – patient transporter, in the same vein of an ambulance. After a mere day, Dawn finds herself bonding with the Pokémon, though the one which is now at her elbows is especially friendly to her. 

She offers a stick of carrots from the small sack which lay beside the rock which she is sitting on – after all, they are in the middle of noon break right now – but the Gogoat bumps her elbow more persistently. It becomes clear then that the Pokémon is asking for her attention not for mere treats. 

“Brock, Professor!” Startled out of their discussions, the men look over at Dawn who has taken to her feet and is trailing behind the clearly impatient Gogoat, “I think she’s found something! Come on!” 

Obediently, they follow after her in the chase of the Gogoat, though the remaining two Pokémon seem interested in nothing more exciting than grazing. Eventually, Prof. Sycamore, Dawn and Brock are led through an overgrown forest trail that people will have a little bit of difficulty spotting, to an abrupt rise in terrain, though not nearly big enough to be considered a cliff-side, being about only twice their height. Dirt-stained roots of nearby trees protrude through the embedded rocks; underneath that, quite unnoticeable at first because of the messy surroundings, is another conspicuous lump of grey rock, smattered on the underside with glinting blue gems, while on the dorsal side – 

“A Carbink!” They exclaim as one upon noticing that the pair of ovals they initially mistake for gems are actually eyes. Though its face is hidden behind the fluffs of its beard, they can still tell that it is in fact in distress, looking that it has found itself entangled in the jutting roots. It can barely move, managing only to wiggle around ineffectively and chirping noises that sounds surprisingly melodious as though coming instead from a songbird. 

“Hang on, we’ll get you out of that,” and she immediately drops to her knees with Brock beside her. Prof. Sycamore produces a wicked-looking hunting knife from his utility belt, which also holds three Pokéballs, and saws through the binding roots. Although Brock is preparing himself to receive its weight, when the Carbink is finally set free he still finds himself heaving – the Carbink may be only a little larger than his head, but it is still a creature made of diamond and rock lumps. 

“There you go now,” Dawn hurries after them because Brock is gasping under the Carbink’s weight on his chest, “It’s alright –” 

But the Jewel Pokémon unleashes a high-pitched shriek and jumps out of Brock’s hold with the same urgency as its attempts to disentangle itself from the roots. Brock, having received the brunt of its fall and its consequent hopping-off, coughs painfully with his hand clutched over where his heart is; the Carbink temporarily forgotten, Dawn rushes over to the man’s side with her face set in concern. 

“I’m fine,” Brock wheezes, massaging his chest repeatedly where the Pokémon’s pointed underside has hit him squarely in its sudden flight, “but _damn_ if that doesn’t feel like being Croagunk-punched!” 

He accepts Prof. Sycamore’s offered hand to help him back to his feet, though scarcely after managing to straighten himself, all three of them set off after the runaway Pokémon. The Carbink is not particularly fast, being encumbered by its weight and lack of feet, but its unexpected fear has caught them by surprise long enough to give it head-start. 

“If the Carbink continues to run off –” 

“The ledge!” Prof. Sycamore shouts, simultaneously completing Dawn’s thoughts and warning the panicked Jewel Pokémon of the danger that lies ahead – a sheer drop which they have initially scouted from two days ago, and which has made the trek to their destinations twice as long in order to circumvent this particular obstacle despite their Gogoat mounts’ fleet-footedness, having their travelling supplies also to think about. 

But the Carbink is deaf and blind to its surroundings by now, driven by its irrational fear of these strangers whom it wrongly thought as its trappers, having come now to claim their catch. They have pushed themselves as hard as they can, but the numbed Carbink is far beyond their reach – one hop, and the tip of its rock-bottom slips from the already slippery, muddy edge; its panicked scream wavers as its body leans into a precarious angle despite its desperate attempt to regain balance. 

In those remaining few seconds, the Gogoat galloping ahead of them sparks into her mind a desperate idea – the Mount Pokémon is not hers, and being so she has no firm grasp on her moves and capabilities. On the other hand, nothing else remains an option, and so on impulse she shouts as loudly as she can, “Gogoat, Grass Knot, now!” 

The Pokémon’s eyes shine green in answer. In the vicinity of the Carbink, a healthy, verdant glow overlays the grass-beds lining the brink of the ledge, followed by a sudden spurt of growth of the glimmering vegetation. Two of the longest, fastest growing blades shoot out and around the slipping Carbink, finally stopping its descent when they tie themselves into a tight knot. The Gogoat slides to a halt right at the edge, cleft-hooves confidently digging into the banks, while the snorting and bleating aimed at the Jewel Pokémon apparently are meant for reassurance. 

Momentarily speechless at this unexpected turn of event, Prof. Sycamore recovers himself to say to Dawn, “Good thinking! That was uncomfortably close!” 

The Gogoat waits patiently while Dawn, Brock and Prof. Sycamore hurry along as quickly as their can – the ground proves rather treacherous, soft and muddy from recent rainfalls that can cause someone to slip all too easily. Together, Brock and Prof. Sycamore are working to haul the Carbink up, while Dawn is uncomfortably treated to the distant sight of the cliff’s bottom, nearly sixty, seventy feet straight down while she waits to receive the Pokémon once it is brought within reach. Even for a Pokémon made of rock and minerals, it may survive but a drop that high does not hold promising end if the Gogoat has not acted swiftly with the Grass Knot. By now, the Carbink starts to realize that these humans are not here to hurt it for it struggles much less strongly now, and what writhing still commences is out of vertigo instead of fear for the humans. She huffs under the Carbink’s considerable weight, though being that the grass-knotting held in Brock’s and Prof. Sycamore’s hands still bear some of the burden, she manages to pull it back to solid ground with more ease than Brock previously had whilst pulling the Carbink out of the roots. 

Taking comfort in the Gogoat’s ease, the Carbink stays put when Dawn comes to approach and kneels in front of it. 

“Hey, there. No need to be afraid. My name is Dawn. This here is Brock –” she gestures towards her friend, then inclines her head in the Pokémon Professor’s direction, “– and that’s Prof. Sycamore. Do you mind telling us your name?” 

The Carbink fixes its jewelled eyes studiously on her but it does not give any answer. 

“Are you hurt?” 

A little sideway jigging of the head, passable enough for a ‘no’. 

“Can you move?” 

A nod this time – actually, more like tilting its body slightly forward. The joining of its head and the rest of the body is too stiff to allow human-like fluidity. 

“What happened? How did you get yourself trapped back there?” 

The obvious reluctance in the way the Carbink averts its eyes from looking at any of its saviours make Dawn regrets asking, afraid that she has pushed too far, too quickly. This Carbink has just fled from the humans without even realizing that it was in fact heading to a greater danger. None of them are at all keen to undo what little progress they have made. 

However, the anxiety on the Carbink’s face is wiped away. Something a little more familiar than the travellers’ presences has caught its attention although they do not have to wait for long to know exactly what it is. 

Or _who,_ to be precise because instinctively searching in the direction of the Carbink’s gaze exposes to them a newcomer who is not at all a stranger to the forest. At the first glance, the person walking down the path behind them appears to be poorly dressed for jungle-walking, though the illusion is quickly shattered the moment their surprise wears out. What appears to be a lovely white-and-grey frock is in fact the body – the white dress-like torso is rather deceiving but there is no mistaking the splaying gown being actually rock, grey and embedded with a pink crystal. A neater diamond-like centrepiece decorates the chest, held by a golden crescent. The crown of generous pink crystals is not a headdress at all – it is a natural feature of the head, two of which are far longer and pointed downwards, looking almost like a pair of (hard, shining and pink) pig-tails. 

In a brief, lightning-quick moment, a part of Dawn dedicated to her Pokémon Contest career trails away from the present – she finds herself thinking what a lovely sight the Diancie is and muses on the splendidness of a Contest dress inspired by the Jewel Pokémon… 

For the first time since they can remember, the Carbink lets out meaningful words in a pitched voice echoing its previous shrieks, though this time the Jewel Pokémon is anything but frightened: 

_-Queen Diancie!_

The royalty of the Jewel Pokémon is flanked on each side by a Carbink escort. The Carbink that the humans have just saved hops to join the Diancie halfway, calling to her in that melodic chirping they have heard before when it was still entangled between the tree-roots. It appears that the saved Carbink is a little than the Pokémon accompanying their monarch, now that they are close enough to each other for comparison. 

_-Nacre, I have been looking everywhere for you!_

Diancie receives the Carbink with a hug, showing every bit of concern and relief one expects between family members. Whoever they are to each other, their closeness is a plain thing to see, compounded by how easily the Carbink forgets the prevailing worries among the strangers just a few feet away from them. What passes between the Carbink and Diancie is unheard to the humans, though soon they find themselves approached by the royal Jewel Pokémon, her guards alert on her either side and the little Carbink hopping after her. 

_-Welcome, Dawn, Brock and Prof. Sycamore. I am Diancie of the Diamond Domain, and these are my people: Bort, Merrick and Nacre,_ she says, broadcasting her gentle greetings through telepathy in the same fashions employed by the Lake Guardians and Arceus. However, unlike theirs, her voice is as undoubtedly feminine as her queenly title, _-I thank you for saving Nacre. If it were not for the three of you, he would have been grievously hurt._

“Thank you, we’re just trying to help. We hope he’s alright, yes?” Asking this, Dawn turns her eyes on the little Carbink, Nacre, indicating that it is him she is referring to. 

_-A little shaken, but it will wear off. I am sorry he gives you quite the trouble – Nacre has not yet grown out of his distrust in humans ever since he was kidnapped, although now I have seen that it is not so with you. I thank you again._ To their amazement, Diancie executes a graceful curtsy, a gesture befitting her rank but decidedly surprising, if only because a good number of people don’t do that. 

“Excuse me, Queen Diancie,” Prof. Sycamore draws forward next, looking slightly flushed although Dawn cannot tell because of what. “Are we already within the boundary of Diamond Domain?” 

_-Please, call me Diancie. Yes, this is the Southern region of our kingdom – only a few miles back, you would have reached the boundary._ Her interest in the humans are unconcealed though relieving in that she does not carry suspicion in it, only curiousity which she explains once she realizes that Dawn and the others are awkwardly standing around the Pokémon, _-Diamond Domain and Allearth Forest rarely receive visitors from the outside. But you do not seem to have wandered here by chance, so why have you come here?_

“Ah, we are actually trying to reach a specific place although we cannot find it.” Prof. Sycamore does not seem too impressed in conceding this, though in Dawn’s opinion, the Pokémon Professor has carried her and Brock much further than they would have succeeded on their own in this unknown forest. Though they have spent years themselves travelling, Prof. Sycamore has hitherto unexpected knowledge in navigation when one has nothing else to go by but the landmarks of nature and the features in the sky. Besides, he is also the one to have suggested Gogoat renting to relieve them of being too pack-burdened. 

_-Oh, you all must have been exhausted!_ She gestures towards her left guard, who nods at something which she whispers into his (the Carbink looks like a he, anyway) ears and hops off back in the direction which they have emerged. Once this is done, Diancie smiles at the humans and says, _-I have Bort return with a retinue carrying a little food supply. This, along with what guidance I can give, are tokens of my appreciation for saving Nacre._

  
  


Within the next hour, Bort returns with a party of five other Carbink, himself accompanied by one whom Diancie identifies as Allotrope. A burlap sack is carried between each pair, three in all – one each for Dawn, Brock and Prof. Sycamore. She bides the travellers to show the Carbink attendants their camping ground so that the sacks may be deposited accordingly, though at this Prof. Sycamore goes to fetch their belongings and the rest of the Gogoat to take the Carbinks’ loads off, saying further that what they have is not a proper camp anyway compared to the more uniform ground where Diancie has come to greet them. 

In a while, they find themselves sitting together, humans and Pokémon alike, in a ring made by the travellers’ newly-erected tents, while Diancie and her party have taken seats opposite the humans. A spread of tablecloth, supplied by Brock, lies between them where a host of fruits, vegetables and some simple processed foodstuffs like cheese and bread are laid on it. These are some of the supplies gifted by Diancie, whilst assuring that more will come when they have decided which way will take them to their intended destination. 

“Wow! Do your people make these?” Dawn is astonished because, among the food before her, she spots a collection of muffin-looking pastries topped with colourful creams: Poképuffs. 

_-Oh, no. We do not usually eat human food but I miss the taste sometimes. So, occasionally, we will go to nearby villages to trade the opals mined from our underground chambers for these treats. Normally, the minerals found in the Earth are enough to sustain us – together with the nurturing powers from the Heart Diamond._

Dawn is intrigued by this enigmatic Heart Diamond – the description may be brief but it must be something of great value to Diancie and the Carbink from the reverent way she speaks of it. On the other hand, Prof. Sycamore’s interest is hooked on another aspect of her exposition: 

“You said that you miss the taste of human food… Forgive me if this sounds intrusive, but does it mean that you have ventured out of Diamond Domain? I heard that even a Carbink will not roam too far outside of one’s country, if it does settle down in one place.” 

_-I have, once. I wish I can go out like that again, although now I rarely have the chances._ In a split second, a yet-unrevealed passion reveals itself from under Diancie’s usual formality. Her bejewelled eyes gleam and her mouth widens into smile at the memories effortlessly surfacing at the slightest incentive, _-It has been such a wonderful experience! I have befriended wonderful people then – Serena and Bonnie, they showed me this thing called ‘shopping’; Clemont taught me about the outside world; and then, there was Ash, he did his best to –_

That one name brings to stop all eating notion for Dawn and it seems to be the case with Brock as well, with the fruit he is prepared to bite held uneaten before his half-opened mouth. The rest of Diancie’s sentence goes right over their heads at this point except Prof. Sycamore’s. Not only that he does not share the friends’ confusion, his expression, initially expectant, turns triumphant at the mentioning of this ‘Ash’ person. 

“I see… In that case, you must be the same Diancie who were hunted down by those thieves, I presume?” 

_-Yes, yes indeed… But how do you know that? Do you, by any chance, know my friends? Serena, Bonnie, Clemont, Ash…? Did they tell you this?_

“I do. They are fine colleagues of mine, and even finer friends! In fact –” 

“Wait, professor!” Dawn desperately breaks up the flow, confused in a way of someone receiving too many unsigned letters but are pressed to write back replies as soon as possible. “I’m sorry, but how come – I mean, what’s going on…?” 

_“Oh, désolé!_ I didn’t mean to hide anything. It is just an assumption, and it really just occurred to me…” 

Prof. Sycmore explains that, being that Ash has come to Kalos as a Pokémon trainer, naturally he was acquainted with Prof. Sycamore while he was roaming the region. Well aware that the incident with Xerneas and Yveltal would intrigue him massively owing to Prof. Sycamore’s special interest in Mega Evolution, hence his mentioning of encountering Diancie and how, in the time of emergency, the royal Jewel Pokémon gained newfound power to create Heart Diamond along with the ability to Mega Evolve following her exposure to Xerneas’ Fairy Aura, shortly before the Legendary Pokémon was transformed into a tree. 

“We were preoccupied in finding Xerneas that I forgot about the part where he told me how and why he met the Pokémon in the first place. However, when you said that you had once visited the outside world…” Prof. Sycamore actually blushed at this little oversight and scratched his suddenly-for-no-reason-at-all itchy cheek. “…I remember now: Ash had informed me how they had just saved a Pokémon named Diancie from thieves, and that they were going to accompany her in finding Xerneas to help her with her powers. When you mentioned that you had once ventured outside, I figured perhaps you are the very Pokémon whom Ash had helped. I don’t know of any other Diancie in existence, after all.” 

_-What an interesting coincidence!_ Her hands clap together excitedly. Diancie herself is almost bouncing on the tip of her rocky bottom which is instead tempered to rocking back and forth. The other Carbink is more divided on her excitement, probably because they are afraid that she may fall over in the process. 

While Dawn may not exactly befriend any of those people mentioned except Ash, her budding involvement in Kalos-style Pokémon Showcase has exposed her to a rising star by the name of Serena. As for Clemont, the name too brushes a fleeting recognition until it comes to her a second later – she has heard of the name belonging to a certain Kalosian Gym Leader, though being that she has not fully explored the region coupled with her participation being centred on Pokémon Contest rather than battles, she has yet to challenge most of Kalos’ Gyms. A quick look on Brock’s face reveals that the same can be reasonably assumed of him when it comes to his level of acquaintance with the aforementioned names, though it does seem like Brock is quicker to recognize Clemont’s name than she does, struggling instead with the girl’s identity. 

As for the third name, Bonnie, Dawn has no idea who she might be. 

In the meantime, while Dawn delves into her own memories, Prof. Sycamore and Diancie carries on their discussion without a hitch – even, it seems, increasing in pace and enthusiasm. By the time she pulls herself out of her thoughts, Dawn arrives to an already half-concluded conversation with Diancie saying, _-Yes, I do know where Xerneas is. I visit it occasionally ever since it took to rest among the trees. But what reason there is for you to seek the Forestkeeper?_

“We’re not sure yet, but we have reasons to believe that Ash is with Xerneas right now.” 

_-Ash? Here, in Allearth? Why, if only I have known! Why-ever should he come here unannounced? I would love to meet him again._

Diancie’s oblivious excitement hurt her human guests so much, their changing faces begin to dawn on the Diamond-monarch that something is amiss. Her elation very quickly dwindles in the face of her newly growing unease – Dawn finds herself similarly restless, rubbing at her fore-arm absentmindedly as if to brush away an unpleasant filth on her person. She wonders if asking for Diancie’s guidance is not cruelty if she happens to find Ash in a similar, if not worse, condition than what he has seemed when Arceus carried him away. 

“I’m sorry, Diancie. We don’t know how he’s doing right now, but…” Dawn cannot possibly keep the Jewel Pokémon unanswered although trying to choose the right way to describe their circumstances is just as difficult as trying to remain quiet on the matter, “…he was badly hurt that it seems he needs Xerneas’ help to save him.” 

Nacre the young Carbink appears confused probably because with his aforementioned reluctance with humans, he cannot quite understand Diancie’s worry. Nevertheless, the other Carbink attendants react to the news in much the same way as their queen does. Whatever Ash has accomplished in his past adventure with Diancie and Xerneas, there must be something which has contributed greatly to the Carbink’s nation that they should hold him and his travelling friends in high regards. 

_-Please,_ Diancie eventually says after a few seconds of respectful silence, in which she has brought her hands over to her chest as if in prayer, _-tell me what has happened to him._

  


*****

  


There is no ‘sleep’ in this world, but for a time the being is unaware of its environment inasmuch of a sleep as there is to be had here, wherever ‘here’ is. The first time it wakes, it was to an endless landscape of moon and desert for as far as one’s sight perceives; the second time, the being is not even aware when the sleep-like trance has caught it in its grasp, rousing to a confusion some unknown time later to the same reality of moonlit, lonely desert where it feels like the very spirit of the inhabitant – if there is even any to be found here – is choked by the overwhelming sense of stillness and silence which haunts the place. This is what the being believes at first – the unshakeable stagnancy which halts even death and decay – although, very gradually, it realizes that this is not entirely true. 

Somewhere, somebody is _singing,_ the sound which has actually caused its second awakening in the first place. 

_“Who’s there?”_ comes out reflexively despite expecting no reply; and none comes to it, only the ceaseless singing from a distance it cannot see. 

The voice comes to it on a cold breeze that chills the very core, crooned in the throat possessed by a creature that the being does not actually look forward to meet. Yet, morbid fascination has moved its legs before it realizes it; when it does, the footsteps it has taken have already stretched for miles behind it, somehow visible in the uneven landscape until its beginning is lost from sight. It tries to stop, but where its own curiousity has initiated but failed to sustain, something else in the song itself summons the listeners to it. It promises nothing, but even then anyone who listens knows that to stay where one is will condemn to a prison without bars – an existence inescapable among the emptiness of sand dunes – whereas following the song at least grants an escape. 

The only question is: To where? 

Fear blooms afresh in the creature’s chest. However, the endless desert tugs at its heart with a despairing loneliness that is just as frightening to it. Solitude where none is asked for is the absolute opposite of what it _is,_ and so though the call of the song brings dread into it, the being nevertheless surrenders its feet to follow the serenade through the sands stretching from one horizon to another, if only to escape the monotony of the place. A fearful thought curls away in the back of its mind, too afraid to do anything about it but too strong in itself to be banished away: at the moment, little differentiates its blind tracking of the singer than a livestock led to the slaughterhouse, perhaps in the hope to find shelter. How this similarity occurs to the being’s mind is yet another fresh occurrence but for now it lets the insights trickle back in their own pace, drip by drip. Its attention is attuned not to itself for now but the summon of the song. 

Gradually, the low, droning song resolves into distinguishable, though muffled, words. The voice takes on a more morbid character as well – the harsh chorale is now hollow and gravelly as if the mist creeping through graveyards has been granted a voice. 

_One for sorrow,_

_Two for joy…_

There is no warning and no hints of its transition. Perhaps, there is not even a transition at all to begin with. The being certainly does not remember when and how the world around it changes. 

Where there was once a desert, here and now is a world as though bleached off of its colours. It stands now in a wide, wide plain overgrown completely with silver grasses which reminds it of… something, somewhere, in a journey undertaken through places its mind was just as unable to grasp then as it is now. The grass-blades glow from the lights within because there is neither sun nor moon to give them the sheen which ripples through the entirety of the field like sea-waves. It is as if the sinking of the moon has brought away the desert sand with it and exposing this ghostly meadow otherwise hidden underneath. There are no stars although clouds trail through the sky on some unseen wind-streams. 

_Three for a girl,_

_Four for a boy…_

Not ‘it’. The being, suddenly aware of its own self and able to discern more than just ‘me’ from ‘the others’, discards the ‘it’ for a ‘he’: A somebody… but who? 

_Five for silver,_

_Six for gold…_

The voice is faintly mocking now. He knows that his body is in possession of skin and now, the coldness spreads across it and swathes his body in numbing iciness. It is fear made vivid until he can feel it as something more than just a sensation of the heart. His chest aches with it. Is this really it? Is he really a livestock waiting to be slaughtered now? Is that why he is mocked, for being so gullible and naïve? 

For daring to hope, at all? 

_Seven for a secret, never to be told…_

And the greyness around him seems to stir in answer, in delight of recognition, whispering things – dreadful, unknowable, mysterious things – that no ears should have any right to listen to. These are the voices of the sourceless bump that goes creeping in the night, of the howls in the winter night, of the presence that goes abroad and makes crickets silent in its passing. 

_Eight for a wish,_

_Nine for a kiss…_

A thin wail from a sore throat echoes through the impenetrable meadow, mourning for things lost that will never be whole again. Another cry rises from the gloom, a cry of loss at a treasure taken and the emptiness it leaves behind. 

Call it a fool’s hope, but he will not be deterred now. He has come away from the desert-land; he may as well seek for the singer now. Perhaps it may be fear motivating him onward, but the itch inside him is otherwise undeniable. It is as though the collective regrets of others who cannot find in themselves courage to step forward are now urging him on, if only to find what is at the end of it. 

So he takes a step. And then another. And another after that, braving the gloom and the swaying, shining grasses… 

_Ten for The Bird,_

_You must not miss..._

And there it is, recognizing it although he has no idea how: The Bird of storm clouds and creeping fog, of silence and agonized screams, wearing shadows and the darkness of moonless night as quillfeathers. It claims a barren branch of a white, withered, bone-dry tree (was there even a tree there before? He cannot remember, like it has been hidden and is only made visible to him then) as its seat as kings sit on the thrones they are so proud of. There are scarce details perceivable to him that marks it as all being an avian creature of some sort – until its beak, black and cold as though being made of forged irons, parts open much too widely and the Bird continues its eerie serenade in that voice which has not grown any warmer as it sings on: 

_One for sorrow,_

_Two for mirth;_

_Three for a funeral,_

_Four for birth;_

_Five for heaven,_

_Six for hell;_

_Seven for the devil, his own self;_

_Eight for a wish,_

_Nine for a kiss;_

_Ten for The Bird, none shall resist..._

Finishing this, the terrible beak shuts with a snap. Wings like gathering stormclouds rustle against its body, sparking off miniature arcs of crimson lightnings. He can see no eyes on what must be the creature’s head, but he shudders anyway as the eyeless attention of this ancient and powerfully terrible creature being directed upon him. 

In his awe, instinct takes over his sluggish rationales – which probably would suggest something along a cautious wait-and-see approach – and he asks, _“Who... who are you?”_

 _-Aren’t you an interesting one now, hmm?_ It is a dry, raspy voice, personifying the desert from which he comes from. Nevertheless, the amusement in it is detectable although he cannot say whether this is good news or not. _-Give me your name, ljótr._

An unspoken I’m-the-one-doing-the-questioning-here runs under the obvious inquiry. This is a demand from the lord of its domain who expects to be treated as its due. A visitor like him – perhaps not even that; perhaps he is an intruder – cannot expect to do away without the creature’s mercy. Unfortunately, memories of his own self slips past his consciousness like water through fingers no matter how desperately he tries to grasp at them. Nothing holds except the vaguest sense of belonging, that he is not where he is supposed to be… 

_“…I don’t know. I don’t remember…”_

_-A pity, then. If you are not so far lost, things would have been much easier…_ The Bird spreads its wings wide and flutters down the short distance to the lower branch, blowing gales from its wings which feel a little too strong for the leisurely strokes. Dark talons lock themselves around the silver, crystalline bough, which diffracts and deflects the faint shimmering from the grasses, in contrast to the shadowed wings of the creature which seem to absorb and capture the lights and keep them imprisoned in its dark feathers. 

He cannot stand not knowing anything at all, and so braves himself to ask (the Bird looks a little more accommodating now, for whatever reason), _“Where am I now?”_

_-My, you are truly lost if even that escapes you. Some sleeps are deeper than others and at the end of them is the Dream World, where few may walk the bridge from their waking lives. And the very end of it… is here, the Edge of Dreams._

_“…‘Dream World?’”_ The name raises a flag in his mind… or maybe not. It feels like his head is filled with fuzzes that make remembering as difficult as hearing noises from sound-proof room. 

Perhaps it is not something he ought to know, even with his memories intact. 

_“I… I woke up in a desert. The moon was huge and red, I remember. I don’t know how I got here from there… I just follow the sound of your singing.”_ He tries to push his memories backwards, to see if he can glean anything that has happened prior to his awakening which may him give a clue to his current situation. However, trying to peek into the room beyond that door is like trying to look directly into a bright light after being confined in the dark. His head aches threateningly. 

_-You should not be here, ljótr. None comes here of their own free will. Those who do…_ the Bird swivels its head around, surveying its surrounding with its unseen eyes, and looks upon him pointedly. _-…they have nowhere else to go, and they will not remain here long._

 _“W-what happened to them? Did you show them the way?”_ Belatedly, he realizes his position before the Bird and reins in his curiousity. _“…if you can tell me, please?”_

 _-No, the way back is something one have to discover by himself. My own waking is scarce, and when I am not, here I wait._

He looks back at the Bird, intending to ask more of itself next but remembering himself in time to control the impulse. Not that it matters much because the creature seems to have read the question straight out of his mind and answers, _-I have been given many names throughout my existence. I know not which will give meaning to you. I am Hræsvelgr, Vulture of the Void, Watcher of the Waste, Scythe-Beak, the Devourer, the Last Shadow. I am also the Valvravn, the Calcatrix and Death-Under-the-Wings._

Indeed, none of the names truly illuminate the darkened corners in his mind. Each of them touch something that stirs his sleeping memories, just the tip of them – but nothing else. It flutters through him like butterflies, landing softly enough that he is not aware of the touch until they have taken flight yet again. 

He should know something… but nothing will answer his pleas. Apart from the awareness of self, he has little else to describe himself. He is somebody… but he is also a nobody. 

A great despair overwhelms him then. Without realizing it, he has collapsed to his knees among the starlight grasses and weep openly into the palms of his hands, heedless of the weakness he is showing to the great Bird. 

_“Who am I? Where should I go? What should I do?”_ He sobs loudly, his shoulders hitching and his breaths come in great heaves. He does not know if he is capable of it before, but he knows now – his tears fall without restraint and wash his face with their warmth. 

_-I cannot help your path, ljótr. But if you seek release…_ The black bills clack together. Suddenly, they seem far too sharp for a beak – the look more like blades, if made entirely out of blackened iron. _-I wait here at the Edge for lost wanderers. They cannot remain here, else their isolation will tear their minds apart and fill them with hatred and madness._

A spark in his mind then. He knows this, _somehow._

A being of hatred and madness… an entity who was lost (imprisoned?) and changed in the insanity of its seclusion… hungering to return and resume the purposes for which it (they?) have fallen prey to… risking abominable things just so they can continue their new, cursed life… 

As a matter of fact, he feels like his own predicament has stemmed from an entity as such. Somewhere in his confounded brain, there curls a portion of knowledge in a dark corner of remembrance like a trembling rat which refuses to come out, capable of only imparting a sense of fear and cautiousness to what dangers posed by the maddened entity – or, he belatedly realizes through the shoulders-wracking sobs, what he himself may be reduced to if he too should lose himself at the Edge of Dreams. 

_-I have ended the pains of many before you before the madness comes to pass… as I can do to you now, if you are not willing to wait until the end,_ the Bird says and flutters down another level of branch, its wings barely opened doing this. 

The Devourer, indeed. 

_“…W-wait, please!”_ he shouts although it is like every word is painful to him. He tries to back away but his legs feel like they have gone asleep. _“I don’t want to… to die here…”_

 _-You are here now, ljótr, and you have forgotten._ The avian shape does not need to move anymore to make him feel far too close to it; not when what it says next is, _-Perhaps it is already too late._

  


*****

  


Their day starts early, by unspoken mutual consent. Before the sun rises, Prof. Sycamore, Brock and Dawn have roused themselves and are getting ready for the journey ahead. Breakfast is a simple arrangement of scrambled eggs, toasts and hot coffee; they savour the meals with relish, which is to be expected since they are the results of Brock’s cooking. Their Pokémon, including the professor’s Garchomp, are released for this occasion to grab for themselves some breakfast as well alongside their rented Gogoat – there are plenty to be had by all, thanks to Diancie’s generous gift. 

Speaking of whom, the queen of Diamond Domain has left them to their own devices after Brock and Dawn have finished telling her about Ash’s circumstances to manage her own people, late evening yesterday. However, she did promise them to return and serve as their guide, a promise which she keeps to when they spot her approaching them from the forest trail, this time accompanied by the Carbink attendants whom they recognize from the day before – Bort, Merrick and Allotrope. By that time, the travellers have finished packing their things and have them loaded on the waiting Gogoat. 

She says to them, _-My friends, the place we are going to lies at the other side of Diamond Domain. A path exists to circumvent our borders, but we will have to cross the rapid waters leading to Allearth Falls. It will be better if we go through Diamond Domain, if you do not mind. Our underground corridors will cut through much more quickly and safely._

Which is how, as the day turns to noon, they find themselves ducking out of the intensifying light and into the blessedly cool, though deep caverns that are one of the entrance to Diancie’s kingdom. As soon as they are inside, two things stand out to them: Firstly, it is the abundance of Carbink who roam the pathways and who will pause to give ways to their party, bowing to their passing queen. Secondly, and more strikingly, are the vibrant, dazzlingly prismatic crystals which pierce through the cavern walls or jutting out like stalactites and stalagmites every so often, unleashing a soft glow into the sun-void underground paths they are now traversing. Like the Carbink themselves, the crystals’ latticework belies the sense of warmth and life which they emit like the beating of hearts. 

Instead of a network of tunnels, they feel instead like walking through the veins of some great, slumbering beast, and they are merely its circulating tiny cells. 

_-You are fortunate, my friends,_ Diancie says when Dawn compliments the crystal structures around them. _-When Ash and the others first came here, the Diamond Heart was dying. This place was dying with it… and so would we if the new one has not been made. The lightless crystals were breaking apart and the floor is littered with their shards._

The Diamond Heart itself comes into view not long after, stealing breaths and causing wondering gasps from the guests. Surrounded by jutting crystal stalactites, the huge, vividly pink diamond hovers at the centre of a cavern chamber, its name perfectly justified by the living light which it emits from the top and into the crystalline roof. If the crystals’ radiance has felt like they exude forces of life, the Heart Diamond is where they source their energies: the nurturing mother of them all. 

_-Even with Xerneas’ Fairy Aura, it was with the help of my friends which finally enabled me to create the Heart Diamond. The kingdom owes its survival to them._ Diancie is smiling, although it is neither fully sorrowful nor fully happy; the Heart Diamond reflects back a lighting that accentuates her crystalline features, most notably those adorning her head. Diancie brings her hands to her chest, murmuring something like in prayer towards the Heart Diamond, and says to the travellers once she is finished with the little ritual, -That is why I will do everything in my power to help him or his friends. 

Dawn finds herself replaying their journeys in the past-Michina, where/when Marcus almost succeeded in his mission to murder the rightful owner of the Jewel of Life which was lent to them. Time and time again, Ash has somehow involved himself in conflicts which ought to be bigger than his capability, yet Diancie and Arceus, neither being ordinary individuals in their own rights, are only two among those he has contributed in some way. Arceus’ determination to save him equals the thirst for revenge it once harboured for the people of Michina, and it makes her think… 

In fact, Dawn scarcely stops thinking about it the moment the thought – wrongful, somehow, but disturbingly persistent – crosses her mind, back when Arceus had appeared above Sendoff Spring and called to him like… _that._

She can own it up to Arceus’ outdated mannerisms, sure. Diancie too has a certain refinement in her speech that reminds her a little of some of the novels she has read (thanks to her mother, whose interests she gradually picks up) and of those old era-themed drama and movies (mostly to search for inspirations on her Contest fashion styles), where terms of endearments are looser. That said, Arceus does not come off as someone who lightly comes up with ‘dearest’ without good reasons. Something else about her friend other than being part of Dialga’s plan for Arceus-Search-and-Rescue which has earned him the title. 

One reason occurs to her mind… but that can’t be right. Surely there are more options, logical ones, that can explain what she has heard and seen. 

Not now, though. Now, they are walking along the last leg of the tunnel-corridor that leads to the outside, having left the chamber of the Diamond Heart well half an hour ago. The retinue of Carbink which have welcomed them thin by the time they exit the cave-mouth Diancie is alone with the travellers and their rented Gogoat, which is as she has requested earlier. 

“You know,” Brock speaks up after his prolonged silence, “We’re not, uh, bad guys or anything, but are you sure they’re okay with this? Being with us unaccompanied, I mean.” Brock deliberately leaves the explanation behind his thoughts: The memories of being mishandled and fought over by thieves may not something which she is too willing to indulge, and Brock is not about to cause her to do just that. 

_-Of course! You are Ash’s friends; that is reason enough for them. Besides, I have always visited Xerneas on my own._

It would have been a day’s worth of journey if Diancie is not with them. Though the trail is not particularly difficult to traverse, it is long, winding and oftentimes concealed by undergrowth and fallen leaves which they might have missed and cost them more time to find their way back. Pokémon’s tracks are everywhere, hinting of abundant lives even when they do not see much. Their disembodied noises fill the forest and accompany their long walks which Prof. Sycamore seems to especially delight in. 

“It reminds me of my childhood, see. I used to go on long walks in nearby reserves to search for Pokémon – not alone, of course. My mama would send one of her Pokémon along.” It is not surprising that, despite the unpleasant motive which has brought them here, Prof. Sycamore’s pleasure is something infectious to the party. It reminds them of their days spent walking to the next village or town or city in search of challenges and competitions which they can partake to empower themselves. Little by little, Dawn is able to forget the nagging puzzlement that demands her analysis – until Diancie stops them, seemingly for no reason or with any indication where they may be. As far as their naked eyes can tell, this part of the forest is little different than others they have gone through. 

_-W-what… is this?_ Diancie gasps, nearly stumbling down but for Prof. Sycamore’s quick reflex to steady her back to her rock-tip. 

“Diancie, are you alright?” 

_-It-It cannot be Yveltal – the Coccoon remains in slumber ever since! It is not Xerneas either…! This feels raw – I have never felt an Aura as intense as this!_

Dawn and Brock, understanding what Diancie does not, exchange wary glances between them. Arceus’ presence – at least, when it is riled up like it definitely is last time – comes with an overwhelming sensation that oppress their minds into submission. They may not feel it yet because of distance, but Diancie’s sensitivity will surely affect her much earlier and more strongly than the humans or their ‘ordinary’ Pokémon. 

“It must be Arceus that you are sensing,” Brock says. He kneels down to her level, hoping to alleviate her distress. 

To his surprise, Diancie’s eyes – momentarily lost in a reverie – returns to the present glimmering with tears. Brock’s first reflex is to back away and give the Pokémon her privacy but it is too late. Doing that now, when both are aware of each other, may be misconstrued. She wipes them away hastily with the back of her hand. Fortunately for Brock, Dawn is with him in a second and fishes out a handkerchief from her pocket, which she uses to wipe away the tears which have been smeared over Diancie’s cheeks. 

“Diancie –” 

_-I… I’m sorry, I cannot help it._ Diancie sounds like she is about to cry some more, and pauses for a few seconds to recover herself. With a deep breath, she continues in a voice that is still a little shaky, _-…I’m alright now. Though, I have never felt anyone’s grief reach out like this. You said that I am sensing Arceus?_

“Yes.” Brock replies. Then, as initial puzzlement becomes a half-formed guess, his eyes widen. “Oh no… Ash.” 

Dawn too is thinking along Brock’s line of thought. With Ash’s prospect already unpromising to begin with, for Diancie to describe Arceus’ feelings as such only brings to mind of the worst case scenario. Probably, it is not quite proper but Dawn cannot help her reflexive thoughts as Diancie cannot help herself from crying. 

Dawn can feel blood draining from her cheeks. “Diancie, please. We have to find Arceus. Ash might be with it right now. Can you lead us to them?” 

_-I… Yes, I can. It feels like it comes from where Xerneas is. It is not much further now._

She does as bid. It feels more like a race than anything then, and the forest recedes from their awareness which revolves only around what they may find at the end of it. When Diancie begins to tire, Prof. Sycamore places her on the back of one of the Gogoat, which she then guides by touching the Pokémon’s horns. The rest follow behind them as quickly as they can since the rest of the Gogoat are bearing their packs and supplies, and adding riders to their burdens will only hurt their established pace. Dawn hates this feeling – the great urgency that does not relent but which presses on your body and spirit, as though you are trying to flee your own shadow. 

But they run on because they can do nothing else. 

That is, until the Gogoat carrying Diancie digs in his hooves in a dust-stirring halt when she cries out, -STOP! 

The instruction is to the others’ benefits because the Gogoat has already received it through her grip on his horns. Despite their confusion, Diancie’s order rings loudly in their ears and minds that her fear substitutes the authority which her voice lacks. They all nearly tumble into one another, Brock even managing to shout a half-curse when he trips on his own feet, though he manages to balance himself just in time; Dawn is saved by the friendly Gogoat who has saved the Carbink Nacre before; and Prof. Sycamore, having sprinted right behind the Diancie-carrying Gogoat, shoots past the others by a few paces before bringing himself to a stop. 

On his last step, the moment Prof. Sycamore’s feet land on the ground, sourceless wind suddenly gusts up to eye-watering intensity too quickly to be anything but normal. 

_“C'est quoi –…?!”_ Instinctively jumping back, Prof. Sycamore is not a second too early as the footprint he just leaves begins to shine, sucking in the wind around it and raising up fallen leaves and dust in a scaled-down, yet still frightening whirlwind. 

They back away immediately, torn between not wanting to know what sort of trouble lies ahead and the need to press on. Meanwhile, the cyclonic gust grows to such an extent that they are forced to shield their eyes and nostrils against incoming dust and sand – even, occasionally, small stones flung about with enough force to graze blood from their skin, as with the case of Brock. 

Suddenly: _-You will not pass._

The twister dies out with the abruptness of its formation, though revealed in the dissipating centre is a towering figure which Dawn and Brock instantly recognize. No less intimidating than when it had arrived in that space where Cyrus-Shadow Hoopa was holding them captive, Arceus’ stance is of readiness to battle with all the fierceness at its disposal should they disobey. 

_Something’s not right,_ Dawn’s instinct whispers amidst the silent confusion, though she cannot exactly tell what it is. 

Nevertheless, she does one of the things which may hopefully repair the situations, assuming that Arceus has not contracted an unexpected amnesia and forgets who they are. She steps forward, pulling Brock along with here, and stands beside Prof. Sycamore. 

“Arceus, it’s us! We’ve got to see Ash!” 

_-Trespassers,_ Arceus’ condemn resonates through their minds which their ears hear as a series of deep, bone-rattling growls. _-Turn back. None shall pass the boundary._

“‘Boundary’…?” Dawn looks at Diancie, wondering if this has anything to do with the territory of Diamond Domain – although why Arceus should choose to suddenly act as the kingdom’s bodyguard is not something she thinks through. 

_-We have left my kingdom the moment we step out of the cave and enter the forest,_ Diancie replies while looking as puzzled as her inquisitor at the Legendary Pokémon standing in their way. 

_-Leave now if you value your lives._

“Arceus!” She shouts desperately. There is no measurable device for them to rely on but she can tell that their time is running short. “Please, let us through!” 

The Legendary Pokémon does react at this albeit instead of recognition, it looks down at her with a hollow gaze as though considering her as little more interesting than an ordinary housefly. “Don’t you remember us anymore, Arceus? We’re Ash’s friends, Brock and Dawn! All of us here are friends!” 

No, they are less respectable than houseflies even. The emptiness in Arceus’ gaze remains unwholesome to look back into it like there is not a soul there but a vast, howling emptiness. Unfortunately, instead of relenting at Brock’s declaration, Arceus only reaffirms its stance; light sparks at the sharp end of the golden forehead, heralding an unknown attack that none of them are keen to find out exactly what. 

_-Your last chance, trespassers._

It can mean any of the vast Attack Moves Arceus is capable of but Dawn’s rat-panic thoughts repeatedly come back to its infamous Judgment, first witnessed when Michina was promised of utter destruction in that history none outside of their little group will remember. Somewhere, the part in her mind which houses logics insist that the reformed Arceus will not be wielding Judgment to force them away considering the collateral devastations it would have wrought upon the land. It is a small and insignificant voice though, especially when faced with a Legendary Pokémon who may or may not be quite right in the head any longer. 

“Arceus, please –!” At this point-blank range, no escape is possible. Even reaching down and into her pocket, where her Pokéballs are stored, will take too long to be of any use. It does not stop them from trying although, honestly, none of them hold real hope of accomplishing anything. 

However, the out-of-the-blue peals of thunder and flashes of lightning in an otherwise clear sunny day startle the travellers – and, more importantly, it stops the commencement of Arceus’ attack. It is not an attack per se, but somehow the gathering light on Arceus’ forehead vanishes as the energy cumulated are allowed to dissipates harmlessly. In the ensuing confusion, a loud yell of a Pokémon can be heard in the distance and is gathering strength as the source of it races towards the stunned travellers. 

_“Pika-chu-chu!”_ The thing calls as it bounds effortlessly between the branches of the trees, its lightning-shaped tail sparking with residual statics from its previous Thunderbolt, and both Dawn and Brock simultaneously shout in recognition of the Pokémon who is coming toward them. 

There is no mistaking it from the cries it emits: This is just not any Pikachu, but Ash’s. 

“Pikachu!” She gasps as the electric Pokémon lands on the ground between her and Arceus. Dawn half-expects, despite herself, that the Legendary Pokémon will soon be charging up another attack after its surprise has been overcome, hence her retrieving her own Pokéballs to aid their defence but Pikachu wheels around to gesture at the balls and imitate a stowing movement. 

“Did he… just asked us to stand down?” 

This comes from Brock. Dawn suspects that it is a matter of incredulity more than lack of understanding when he asks that, considering that they are seconds away from seeing kingdom come. On the other hand, it really does not make any difference if Arceus is intent on sending them on their way. At least Pikachu seems to know what to do that _probably_ will not end in their (hair’s breadth away) demise. 

She releases her grasp on Empoleon’s Pokéball and spreads her arms out to showcase her harmlessness. She whispers, “Do as Pikachu says. Come on, this might be our only chance.” 

Brock does that, which Prof. Sycamore also imitates. Even Diancie dismounts to stand beside them, though instead of outstretched hands she brings them clasping her chest in that praying gesticulation. The nervous Gogoat bleat away in the silence but remain where they are despite the looks in their eyes showing how they wish to be away as soon and as far away as possible. Pikachu nods encouragingly towards them, then pricks up his tail to send another strike of Thunderbolt lightning into the sky. The drumming rolls of thunder rends the stillness, the bright, seconds-long flashes visible perhaps for a few miles in every direction and leaving their ears ringing painfully from the decidedly unsafe proximity. 

Arceus’ movement freezes. Even the subtle shifting of its legs or the wary trailing of its eyes after their every movement is gone, to be replaced with stiffness and a blank look which is far more unsettling than just the unreasoned anger it has greeted them with. Dawn’s question about them does not get the chance to be asked because she, like the rest of them, are amazed by the Original One’s eyes which garner about them a strange, twinkling shine where there was only a deathly dullness not a few seconds ago. A slight jerk courses through its body, starting from the head all the way to the tip of its tail. 

Then, Pikachu speaks once again to the Legendary Pokémon: A series of short, clipped barks which effectively catches Arceus’ attention from being centred on the travellers and brings its attention down – Dawn notices that this time, Arceus’ eyes no longer radiate a sense of abandonment like staring into the windows of a long-neglected mansion – towards the Pikachu. 

_-Little one, what say you for calling me out of my search? I cannot leave for too long now._

Another input from the electric Pokémon while the travellers wait with breaths held in their chests. 

_-I see,_ Arceus concludes then looks back at the travellers lined in front of it. Its eyes find Dawn’s first which earn her a rather cryptic nod, then at Brock who is similarly received – though Diancie receives a puzzled head-tilt, and Prof. Sycamore is acknowledged with a prolonged gaze that makes even the man shuffles his feet restlessly. The Gogoat are given cursory glance but that is all there is, Arceus having decided that their presences are not the main focus compared to the others its eyes have caught. 

_-Ash’s friends,_ Arceus says when it looks at the two of them alternately – not sounding like it is trying to convince itself but more like it is just coming up with the appropriate term to label them with. To Diancie, it says, _-…and the Royal Lady of Diamond Domain; I am surprised… but very well. And you…?_

The last one is aimed at Prof. Sycamore. The man steps forward like a schoolboy who has been summoned to the front of the class to answer a question written on the blackboard. “My name is Augustine Sycamore and –” 

_-I know your name and I know what you do. But who ARE you?_

They see the worry on Prof. Sycamore’s face. Somehow, a crucial piece of the puzzle escapes him while Arceus looks to be not too keen on spending its time any longer than it should be. Thankfully, after minutes of wringing his brain to see what he has missed under the Original One’s unrelenting stare and thinning patience, Prof. Sycamore manages to come up with what is hopefully the right answer. 

“I’m also a friend. I knew Ash when he first arrived in Kalos. We met again a number of times after that – he helped us save Kalos from Megalith Zygarde –” 

_-I understand now. That is enough._ Arceus relaxes, just a little bit, but the rest of them catch on to that much more eagerly and let out the sighs they have been dying to let out. It feels like the ice which have frozen their limbs over is finally thawed by the relative warmness in the Original One’s bearing. 

_-Pikachu, I shall leave now. You know the forest trails enough to guide them, I believe?_

_“Pika-pi!”_ The Pikachu even stands up on his hind legs and thump his chest, as if to say _you can count on me!_

To their collective surprise, Arceus’ body bursts into flame, casting the whole place in an incredible heatwave and blindingly glaring light which leaves painful flashes even when they have averted their eyes. The fire crackles and burns through the Legendary Pokémon’s body in a matter of seconds, leaving not even a speck of ash behind once it has worked its way through and through, down to the last inch of its hooves. It is like their encounter with Arceus never even occurs in the first place if not for the proof found in the solid presence of the Pikachu. 

_“Oh my god! Did you see that?!”_ Suddenly realizing that he is in fact shouting his thoughts out, Brock promptly clamps his mouth shut. However, his eyes are not yet done with the shouting – he glares at the spot where Arceus was as though doing so long enough will reveal that the Pokémon is still there all along, only hidden from plain sight. 

“W-what just happened?” Dawn can hear the crack in her voice. She is close to shouting herself if Brock has not beaten her to it. She feels terrible – her head aches after seeing the magnesium-bright flash as Arceus practically explodes before their eyes. The heat it leaves behind is just as overwhelming – sweats are wrung out of her skin until they trickle down from her temples. 

“I…” Prof. Sycamore sounds only marginally better. Remembering the penetrating glare she once received from the same Pokémon, Dawn can connect with the aftermath the man must be feeling right now. “…I think… I think that’s just Arceus using Substitute. _Enfin,_ I have not seen a Substitute the likes of it! It is – _mais je rêve!_ – it must have been a very, very advanced technique!” 

“Wait, what? You’re saying that we’ve never met –” 

_“Non, non, non_ – we were indeed in Arceus’ presence, but not at first.” He looks at the spot where the light has first emerged prior to the Legendary Pokémon’s appearance. “Diancie, when you stopped us back then, was it because you sensed something about this place? A barrier, perhaps?” 

_-Yes, I could not tell what it is exactly but the closer we came to it, the stronger its presence becomes._

“Arceus must have set up a perimeter to guard against strangers. It all started after Diancie told us to stop, but I could not in time, _non?_ I imagine nothing would have happened if, say, a wild Pokémon wandered in my place. I must have triggered the alarm when I crossed the boundary. The Substitute was there to warn us. Or drive us away. OR just eliminate stubborn strangers…” 

_“Pikachu!”_ The Pikachu pipes up in approval and prances about the group, his pride and happiness both well-deserved after the incident. He bounds up into Brock’s arms and nuzzles his cheek to the man’s in greeting, looking generally pleased to see familiar faces in this forest. 

The gears in Prof. Sycamore’s mind has yet to stop spinning, even picking up their pace the longer he stares after Ash’s Pokémon, who is now repeating the greeting with Dawn. “It was Pikachu. He saved us from the Substitute’s attack… and somehow, he called for the real Arceus to let us in.” 

Now, it is Brock’s turn for his moment of enlightenment. _“That’s_ why Arceus was checking us! The Substitute only attacks – but when Pikachu called, the real Arceus took over the puppet to look at us itself, see if we are really trustworthy to pass!” 

Dawn remembers how relatively easily they were cleansed of suspicion when she and Brock were simply recognized as friends of Ash, whereas Prof. Sycamore was subjected to the heart-stopping, extended interrogation. Diancie too does not appear to be under heavy scrutiny, though that may be due to her being an Allearth native; similarly, their rented Gogoat does not seem to catch its attention that much. If that is the case, Prof. Rowan back in Sinnoh has indeed foreseen the possible complication of his coming, considering Arceus’ reluctance to let free reigns for people to intrude in… what is it that Arceus mentioned back then? 

A search of some sort? 

Brock and Prof. Sycamore may have made a lot of breakthroughs in their impromptu brainstorming ( _“It must be the Thunderbolt, right? That’s the signal for Arceus?”_ ), Dawn is unsettled by what Diancie has said regarding the sense of sadness and this cryptic reference to this… _searching_ business. For themselves, they might have achieved some form of success by passing Arceus’ test, but what comes after may not be worthy of celebration. Just the thought of it makes her heart grows heavy. 

On the other hand, for Arceus to employ this frightening level of security perhaps denote that not all is lost just yet. Somewhere in Allearth’s depths, Arceus is keeping its hope alive behind the barriers that nearly caused their own deaths. Dawn is reminded of a necklace – a gorgeous piece of craftsmanship adorned with lustrous pearls and delicate sterling silver metalworking, and with an attached price-tag which momentarily stopped her heart – set in a display inside a protective casing whose glass is strong enough to deflect Magnet Bomb (or so it was advertised). 

Like the protected necklace, Ash, whomever he is considered in the Original One’s eyes, is apparently precious enough for Arceus to guard him so… 

…so _jealously._

“We still have to find the real Arceus,” she says, breaking the full-blown discussions Brock is sharing with the Pokémon Professor. The looks on their faces suggest that the prospect awaiting them has just made its gloomy comeback as it has recently does to Dawn. 

She sets the Pikachu back on the ground. Briefly, he looks over at her companions, Diancie included, from whom she receives a preparatory nod. She worries momentarily how long still it will take to reach their destination before forcing herself to focus on the here and now. The best they can do is to hurry on and hope for the best. 

“Lead the way, Pikachu. We’re counting on you.”


	25. And If We're Lost

When the party arrived at the glade where Xerneas has taken to rest in its tree forme, they are met with surprises, three times: Firstly, when they behold Xerneas, now resting in the form of the ivory-white, leaf-barren tree at the centre of the glade which radiates an invigorating presence despite its unearthly appearance. The branches, formed into shapes which bring to mind of hands in supplication, strike in their hearts a confusing balance of serenity and ominousness; next is the jarring sight of the Arceus and the prone Ash laid beside it. The Legendary Pokémon’s gaze wait for them faithfully long before they make their appearances – not exactly peaceful and not truly hostile – and it gathers to its feet when the travellers finally emerge from the treeline… which brings to them their third surprise. 

From a distance, what appears to be glowing extensions of Xerneas’ branch reveals itself as vines, made up of many silver-shining strands. When Arceus stands up, its chest is revealed to the newcomers, which is now nearly lost in the numerous meshing of silver threads originating from the same luminescent vines they have spied coming from the white tree, intertwining into thicker cord that branch again at the middle. This fork, thinnest than the section connecting Arceus and Xerneas, leads to Ash, the end spreading into fine, hair-thin filaments which encase Ash’s entire arm and engulfing it in a soft light. Despite the vines’ seeming delicateness, they extend and stretch accordingly to match Arceus’ movement – although, it seems instead that Arceus is in discomfort whenever it moves, even by a little. 

Pikachu, who spearheads the travellers, comes up to greet the Alpha Pokémon with delighted chirps, though his noises quickly turn concerned when he settles beside Ash, unchanged from the day he was taken away from Sendoff Spring. Arceus neither welcomes nor spurn the newcomers; its attitude is of wariness, which is understandable, but Dawn fancies seeing hints of _weariness_ about the Legendary Pokémon as well. The shining strands covering its chest are strangely alluring, although when realizing that Dawn’s eyes are looking at them, Arceus shifts itself sideways so that most of its frontal profile are hidden away from the travellers, as though the seemingly innocuous links are something that should have stayed hidden. Something secret and cherished to the Alpha Pokemon. 

And yet, they are freely shared with Ash. Dawn ponders about this between confusion and fascination, remembering from her brief glimpses the multi-coloured beads of light which pulse through the glowing link from Arceus and into the Ketchum in a slow, rhythmical march that reminds her of heartbeats. It reminds her also of the Jewel of Life, life-giving and revitalizing to the land of Michina, where Damos and his people lived to this day. 

Is that what those vines are for? Giving life to Ash? And why are they connected to Xerneas at all, if those light-beads neither comes for nor travels forth from the tree? 

_-So you have come,_ Arceus sighs, a voice that seems to travel with the breeze. 

“Of course we are. Ash is our friend – we can’t just leave him like that. Even if you’re with him.” This comes from Brock. At first, he sounds irritated although when Dawn manages to glimpse his face, there are frowns of worry marring his features. She can feel the same lines on her own face as well and realize that what Brock is saying is what she would have done too. 

_-I have wondered about that. But of course you too shall share his stubbornness,_ Arceus sighs again, quieter this time and touched with a sense of sadness that makes Dawn both angry and sympathizing. If Arceus is so powerful and all that, and if it has gone to the troubles of isolating Ash from the world for his healing, why is Ash still looking like he is now? 

Arceus seems to read these thoughts – instinctive rather than deliberate, but they will not abate easily – and its body shimmers in agitation. _-You have no right to judge my performance._

“I didn’t –” 

_-I see it in your eyes, girl. I feel in in your Aura. You believe I was wasting his time. As though I mean for him to waste his life so!_

“She didn’t mean it!” Brock shouts and grabs Dawn’s hand. She does not realize the sweats which has come out from her skin, making Brock’s fingers on hers clammy. “We’re worried, that’s all! We’re… we’re sorry if we make you feel that way, we don’t mean it. Please, believe us… we don’t come all the way to pick a fight with you.” 

Arceus turns its head away pointedly. She thinks that the Legendary Pokémon is too aggravated to give attention to her before she notices the weariness she has espied earlier from it returns, greater than ever, and the great shoulders droop in defeat. 

_-If things have been simpler, it would not have been this way. If your doctors and shamans are capable of healing him, I would let you take him away. If… If I am not needed, I would have left…_

The tree glows then. A ball of light separates itself from the glow and floats down to the ground in front of the humans. It expands and stretches, taking for itself a vague, four-legged shape that resembles first a horse before the light sprouts upwards to form the shapes of a pair of flared antlers. Colours fill in the ethereal form, becoming a translucent representation of Xerneas in its stag form. 

_-That would have sealed his doom that you are trying to prevent,_ Xerneas says through its spectral avatar, _-and he will sleep through the death and decay of his body, even while his consciousness persists, trapped in a limbo that will turn him into something else – something abominable._

Diancie curtsies respectfully before Xerneas’ ephemeral duplicate, while the others watch in awe at the unexpected manifestation. For Dawn and Brock, this is the first time they have seen this fabled Forestkeeper. The shock is no less powerful for Prof. Sycamore who has spent his entire life looking out for the appearances of such being, if only as an avatar and the creature itself is resting now in its tree-form. 

“W-what do you mean, Xerneas? What is happening to Ash?” Dawn finds back her voice quickly although she is none too pleased to find it coming out hoarse and halting. 

_-Know only that your friend lies beyond even my power. Lord Arceus is trying to help, but being both the seeker and the fountain of his life-force severely hinders its efforts. Waver but for a moment, the powers which would have nurtured will instead annihilate his human existence._

_-What should we do? Surely there is something we can help with…_

Diancie, silent and patiently listening all these while, comes between the humans and Arceus. The stag-avatar glides over to Arceus as lightly as paper borne on a wind and sidles beside the Alpha Pokémon. 

_-Let them help, Lord Arceus. If your mate is lost further than you have thought, you will need all of your attention just to keep him alive._

_…‘mate’? Ash? Arceus’?_

That one simple, innocuous word rings again and again in her ears, bouncing back and forth in her head yet giving little understanding of what this may mean. Or… is it that she is just too closed-minded to accept it for what it is – what she has been suspecting all along? 

_…Ash is Arceus’ mate?_

Can it be any other way? It is as if she can hear a voice in her head, small and whispered, simultaneously trying to convince her and deny what may just be her wild imaginations. That Xerneas must have used ‘mate’ in a different context that it is most well-known for… 

_Cut it out._

The evidence is there, laid out haphazardly but unmistakably. The endearment. The vengeance which it has enacted upon the culprit ghost, exceeding even its rage upon the attempts on its life. The worried look in its blazing eyes. The protectiveness of a wild beast in the defence of its offspring… or its mate. 

_What are you thinking, Ash?_

She feels like the words have minds on their own, fighting through her shock and confusion to get out of her mouth. Her thoughts and emotions are wild, untrusting. Of all the people out there, is there no one good enough for him that he rather marries himself off to a Pokémon? Worse still, her mind turns into a dark corners and begins to ask things that she should not have. 

_Is he a willing party in this matter? Did Arceus used a charm of some sort, tricking him into accepting? Why Ash hadn’t spoken a word about this?_

_Because people will be talking and thinking of the worst… just like what you’re doing right now._

The voice in her mind are silenced by this realization. Of all the things she could have assumed, the easiest will be that Ash does indeed love Arceus, and being the Pokémon’s mate is entirely consensual for both of them – and yet this is the thought she struggles the most with. 

_And to think – Ash had troubles to recognize when a Helioptile is wooing his Sceptile!_

Still, that does not make the notion sits comfortably with her. Maybe it’s seeing how _different_ they are, a human and a Legendary Pokémon, even at the barest glance. Their grossly different size is only the tips of the icebergs when you put them side by side. It treads uncomfortably close to… 

_Alright, Dawn. Now that’s just insulting._

She should have known better not to judge a book by its cover. Possessing an animalistic appearance and the instinct for it serves to hide the human-level intellect (or surpassing humans’ maybe, come to think of it). All the things humans are known for and pride themselves with is entirely within Arceus’ capabilities. She has seen hints of that during her sojourn into the past. Has seen both pain and delights humans can bring to it. Is it too difficult to grasp that its love for humans becomes being in love with one particular human? 

_But for Ash to agree to it as well…_

Difficult perhaps, but not impossible. She scarcely knows what entails between Ash and Arceus that draw them together. Was it an instantaneous spark that brooks no argument or a slow-burning flame, taking years after years before it is finally bright enough to be noticed? Perhaps, once you have attracted the attention of a Legendary Pokémon, no man nor woman will ever be good enough… 

_-The voices of his friends will give clarity to the paths you cannot seek on your own,_ Xerneas’ image is saying, breaking through the blanket of her thoughts and reminding her what and who really matters right here, right now. _-If Pikachu alone cannot help you… perhaps all of them might._

 _-It is not an obligation… but any help willingly given is greatly welcomed._ Arceus’ words are heart-breaking, despairing. The voice of one who is struggling to keep oneself intact while holding on to the breaking pieces. 

The briefest glance of the red eye lands on her. It lasts for a moment or two at most, but she shivers nevertheless. There are no words needed to know that her shock is not hidden from the Original One. The seconds-long stare asks if she is able to give her aid without being hindered by her own muddled feelings. She hates herself for being so obvious about it. Everyone will be shocked when presented with such unusual news, a knee-jerk reaction to something outside of the norm. but nobody else seems blatantly surprised by this – either because it is too fleeting to be recognized, or they hide their expressions much better than she does. 

It is not an entirely comfortable notion, a human marrying a Pokémon, but she can certainly keep the thoughts to herself. Time will overcome the awkwardness, but for now time is also something that Ash is running out of quickly. 

She is the first among the travellers to approach Arceus. Hoping that it is understandable as her secret gesture of apology for so quickly succumbing to prejudice, pouring every ounce of regret into her eyes when she stares back at the Original One. Silent and watchful, Arceus waits for her to find her words. 

She takes a breath and says, “We’re in this together now, Arceus. Let me help you.” 

“Me too.” Brock steps beside her and beyond, tugging her hand to join him beside Ash. The Pikachu chirps in delight and nuzzles his cheek against their bent knees, his tail wagging back and forth. Diancie is quiet but her intention is no less clear than the others when she stands beside Dawn and Ash, her hands cupped to her chest glowing with a gentle pink light of the same shade as that radiated by the Diamond Heart, back in the depth of her kingdom’s caverns. 

Prof. Sycamore hesitates a second or two longer than the rest, worried by the memories of his trap-triggering footfalls and the Substitute Arceus which has sprung from it. However, the one before him is far removed from the threatening replacement set to guard the place. No harm is being enacted or implied on him when he too eventually takes his place around Ash. 

_-Very well, then. Just know that this will not be a binding procedure, and you may leave and join us again anytime you wish. Now… place your hand on Ash,_ Arceus instructs them all. They do as they are told, though by unspoken agreement they instinctively avoid the delicate meshes of silver threads wrapped about his arm. Pikachu alone is nuzzling his forehead with his nose while the others each keep their hands on Ash’s shoulders or the one exposed hand. 

_-Call his name in your heart,_ Arceus continues as it radiates out its mental touch to feel the minds of others around it. To them, it feels like a warm breeze is blowing across their skins though it appears to come from no definite source if they try to focus on its direction. _-Set your mind on him – it does not matter if you are focusing on your touch on him, seeing his face or recalling your experiences together with him. I will carry your presences with me and hopefully… he will hear us._

Saying this, like those people whose hands and singular thoughts are now upon the Ketchum, Arceus too ceases speaking and join its mind to theirs, so that their voices will accompany it into the deeps of his consciousness where dreams are no longer the possession of one but the amalgam of many. 

  


*****

  


_-So you are still here, ljótr._

He looks up. The Great Bird, gone for times untold, is now back. The vast wings close against its black body, hiding its form in a darkness that shifts and sways with the beholders. His eyes hurt but he endures the sting. The discomfort ironically is soothing in its twisted way – it reminds him that he is still… unchanged, if the sight of this unearthly creature still yet touches on his human side. 

And yet… he knows that the longer he remains here, the less time he has on his hand. 

_“I’m not going crazy just yet,”_ he says. His attempt to sound convincing, even triumphant, falls flat. Instead, his voice is small and scared, like a mouse holed up in its burrow waiting for the cat’s swiping paws to finally reach it. 

The Bird replies only with a throaty noise, perhaps something that is close enough to pass for cawing for this creature, and returns to its silent vigil. He still cannot discern visually any existence of its eye, though from the way it unfailingly tracks his movements whenever it chooses to do so is not just a little unsettling. He ponders also where the Bird has gone off previously – and does its shadowy feathers seem to gain a metallic sheen now, as if the glow of well-being has returned now after a feast following hunger? 

_Stop. I’m just imagining things…_ He tries to push the thoughts of the cruel beak rending into immaterial flesh, or that it may just happen to him sooner or later, when the Edge of Dreams finally claim his sanity… 

He ought to go; the restlessness in inaction feels like a part of who he is, and now it scolds him for doing nothing here while trying uselessly to jog his memories. On the other hand, the isolation of the desert weighs coldly in him that thinking that he may end up there after attempting to leave the sliver-grassed meadow petrify his legs until he convinces himself to wait a little while longer, or until he does go mad – then the Bird can easily finish him off before he can begin to wreak untold catastrophe. In fact, he is not even sure why he is still spared; he has no illusion that the Bird is incapable of devouring him while he is yet to change for the worse. Neither does he believe that his tearful plea has anything to do with its waiting for the moment when he would be irreversibly lost. Which brings him back to where his dilemma start – to sit here and wait for the beak’s tearing into him, or to walk somewhere – anywhere – so that he may find something that will show him the way out. He detests the notion of surrendering without a fight although he cannot tell whether this is one of the instances whether persistence will bring reward or mess his already uncertain fate. 

Here, he is truly trapped – both in mind and body, indecisive and at loss of where to go and what to do. 

As though perceiving his confusion, the Bird speaks up from its perch, _-Go if you wish, ljótr, but whichever direction you take will still bring you to me if you cannot find your pathway._

_“How can I find my path then?”_

_-Remember,_ the Bird says in the same gravelly voice which he has first heard in the singing which has led him to this place. _-And in remembering, you will know where you should be instead of here._

He knows better than to press on the questions about himself. Even if the Bird knows more about him than what it lets on, being informed of them outright without the connection found in remembrance will still deny him the exit. But something else does make him curious. 

_“Why did you call me… that? What does it mean?”_

But this inquiry is not considered worth answering to the Bird who has gone quiet again except for the occasional faint crackles, as if underneath its wings static electricity is arcing frequently from one feather to another. He has hoped, faintly, that by knowing what and why the title being given to him will slowly turn his memories if he knows himself by starting with what other people feel when looking at him. The ignorance that meets him is a reminder that he is only a fleeting visitor to this place and his standing is precarious enough as it is without the threat of his deterioration in the future. 

And yet… 

Why is he waited upon? Something is not… normal here. He is quite certain that under normal circumstances, the luxury of waiting is sparsely extended, if ever, and that the Bird will do much better to just be done with him… 

The Bird suddenly jerks out of its silence with a gruff caw, much more in line with a sound made by an avian creature than the noises of grinding stones they were initially. It stares into the distance lost beyond the horizon, where the grassy meadow continues seemingly forever. The bland sky, streaked only with thin clouds here and there, suddenly ripples like water being disturbed – and just as quickly it happens, the disturbance concludes without much fanfare. 

When it happens though, however briefly it does, he feels some sort of a twinge, deep in his chest. Like a string plucked and released, and a momentary warmth fills him before it dissipates with the shifting in the sky. 

_“What… is that?”_ He massages his chest, trying to discern what has occurred. 

The Bird makes some sort of humming noise, either thoughtful or understanding. However, what knowledge it has gleaned is not shared with him, and neither is he quite brave enough to test its tolerance at the moment. 

_-…Are you quite yourself still?_ The Bird asks abruptly and startling him out of his own reflections. 

“I… I don’t know. Just then, I felt –” He cannot describe exactly what it feels. At the moment of occurrence, many similes cross his mind but not now, not when the delay has blunted the clarity of it. The beginning of panic settles in the place of his confusion. _“…Am I changing? Is this it?”_

He wants to shout then. Hoping to be given more time to reclaim himself. Not wanting to succumb so quickly to whatever force which will turn him into the ravenous being the Bird has described. He also desperately wants to run away despite knowing better what good it will do to him. 

_-Do you now? I think we shall see if it is the case._

_“But –”_

A voice. Faint, fleeting. Wordless; just a noise that comes out of nowhere, yet seemingly close to him. As if it is whispered into his ears… except he is alone with his sole companionship being the shadow-bird, now returning its invisible stare beyond limits which he can see. 

_“…H-hello?”_

_Stupid,_ he immediately berates himself although somehow, he feels like he is meant to make some sort of answer. 

The warmth comes again then, enveloping a small part in his chest. Surrounding what feels like his heart. Beating with life on its own yet still, in some way, a part of him. 

A burst of light from his chest. He tries to scream but what comes out instead is a gasp, not of fear but of amazement, for the light writhes in the manner of flames. The tips of it are changing colours fluidly, adopting a broad spectrum from red to blue and back again in the span of mere seconds. He feels heat from it but no pain – the fire crackles and sways, but his body is unharmed from it. 

_-I see now…_ The Bird of shadow mutters; watching at this event with carefully concealed interest that nevertheless bleeds in the rapt attention it gives him. _-The blessing of the sky, how curious._

 _The blessing of the… sky?_

He stares into the depth of the fire and at the prismatic ends that dance wildly about. He notices, to his great amazement, a light within, somehow separate from the ones given off by the fire itself and the silhouettes of feathers that gleam in seven colours. He can see every strand of it on the wings of some sort of creature that glides through the sunset sky, rainbow trailing in its wake and – there and then, he remembers – all those years ago, in the first day of his life as a Pokémon Trainer. He has laid on the ground, weakened and injured, the grey clouds that brought with them the angry storms only just passing. And there, in the sky, was the shining Ho-Oh, glowing in the blue sky like a miniature sun… 

He was a Pokémon Trainer… and his companion – 

_“…Pikachu!”_

The electric rodent appears in his mind’s eye. His first and closest companion, a friend who has been with him unfailingly. The Pokémon unwillingly entrusted into his care, yet becoming the very one who would be with him throughout their adventures, braving through dangers and sharing their happiness together… though not before he realized how badly he has acted as a Pokémon Trainer when his recklessness has allowed the Pokémon to be so severely injured by the Spearow flock, on his first day as a Trainer, no less… 

The smiling face of his mother. Proud and nostalgic in equal measure whenever he came back home after his travels in the various regions. 

The friends he has cultivated, humans and Pokémon alike. There are many of them; their faces swim across his vision, fleeting but powerfully imprinted in his mind. Regaining their identities and their places in his life. Gary, his friend and greatest opponent, thankfully befriended again – Misty and their rather rough acquaintance before developing into the friends they are – Brock, Gym leader and a close friend who has never let him down – May of Hoenn and Dawn from Sinnoh, both of them respectable Coordinators in their own right – Squirtle, Evolved into his final stage while he was leading his Squirtle Squad – Charizard, saved from the roadside and his steadfast ally after their rocky beginning – the Venusaur, once his Bulbasaur, a natural leader in the Oak Corral then as he is now – the Feraligatr, Meganium and Typhlosion, his Pokémon from Johto as well as Swampert and Sceptile, befriended from his days traversing Hoenn – Cilan and Iris, the friends he first met in Unova and his Pokémon in the same region, among them Serperior, Emboar and Samurott – 

Hundreds of faces, thousands of them… each of them vying for space in a relentless flow. And these are hardly the only things that demand his attention – all the places which he has gone to also fight for their rights in his mind, transitioning rapidly from his hometown to places far and wide, from the nearby Viridian City to the fantastical Ghost World and the Reflections Cave, from the humble and rustic Hidden Village to the bustling Castelia city in Unova, or the strange amalgam of technology in Azoth Kingdom, a contrast to the secretive Nebel Plateau… 

And then – and then – 

Bianca. Or is it Latias? 

They are on the Alto Mare dock. The boat is ready to set sail. The sun is setting, giving russet tinges to the waves, their days in the City of Water drawing to an end. Brock and Misty look on from their seats in the boat, waiting only for him to join them aboard. A piece of paper is handed to him which he receives, curious and happy in equal measure. Bianca – or Latias – leans forward on her toes, her breaths warm and her lips soft on his cheek – 

Serena. His childhood friend, long separated before they are reunited again in Kalos. How she has grown. He is in the Kalos airport now with Clemont, Bonnie and the rest of their Pokémon, ready to end their travels in Kalos as Serena is to begin hers in Hoenn. Sees her sprinting up the escalator, her face flushed and determined. Her smile, sweet and soft and longing. Beautiful, even. So close together. His eyes meeting hers. Her mouth on his, gentle lips curiously trembling. Her breaths hitching. His breaths too, perhaps. The shocked gasps of others in the background – 

A flurry of wind. The night sky suddenly lit up with colours. Creeping fog part with the tearing of the very reality. A rainbow of colours from within the… hole? Not Ho-oh, not this time. Bigger, stranger. But just as familiar. Warmth like the sun. Golden rays slipping in shafts through the opening slit. Legs appearing, white and long and gold-tipped; a head on a long neck, a face in the grey but tinted with the light of green and red. A voice in his ears and mind. Neither definitively feminine nor masculine, but in-between. Ever-changing, but undeniably gentle. Remembering now of the time when he watches the sky in a foreign town threatened under the rain of fiery Judgment… 

But no longer. Not anymore. Changed, this time. It comes not for revenge, but for pleasure in a company. In friendship. It says so… 

_Oh, umm… hello,_ he says. What a stupid thing to say, of all the things he could have come up with. He fumbles with other greetings, something more appropriate to a Legendary Pokémon the likes of – 

_“…Arceus,”_ he whispers, not realizing that the name is uttered rather than merely thought of until he hears the wind-whistling among the grasses that seems to reply to the calling of the name. It seems to moan his name as well, crying for loss that he cannot fathom. Begging forgiveness. Beckoning him to return, to come home, to wake up and end the nightmare. 

The flame on his chest subsides to glowing embers but the warmth remains, pulsing with life that is and not his own, somehow. The corona of rainbows now rings around a ball of golden light, spilling radiance and heat like a star swathed in a nebula. Ho-Oh’s blessing and more. The vibrant essence of the Original One, placed into him at the time of their bonding, cradling his own sapphire-blue radiance, smaller by far than the nurturing light from the Alpha Legend but no less tenacious in its persistence. A harmony of light and colours, like an eye of some great creature. His significant other. 

_-You are one interesting child. The Sky Guardian favours you… and the heart of the Lord Protector resides in yours,_ the shadow-bird says from its perch, no longer bothering to mask its astonishment. _-Tell me your name now, ljótr._

This time, he no longer hesitates. _“My name is Ash. Ash Ketchum.”_

And the sky that roofs the world abruptly parts, revealing a sliver of gap that spills forth light as if on the other side of it is a world of unending daylight. Thunders clash furiously with the sharp lance of the wild lightning, competing briefly for dominance before they recede as if admitting supremacy of the heavens to the emerging disturbance. Colours like ethereal ribbons gust around the breach, appearing similar to the flames which has sprouted from his chest. Even before he sees it, he knows what to expect from this unnaturalness – the Edge of Dreams tremble as the figure pushes out from the thin radiant fissure as if its presence is a strain more than the place can handle, gilded in light that should have hurt his eyes but actually don’t – a vaguely equine outline, gliding through the air in a leisurely canter that belies the frantic searching, red eyes sweeping across the sea of silver strands with uncharacteristic impatience. 

He feels the weight of Arceus’ gaze landing on him and the voice, as peculiar and comforting as he remembers them being, whispers softly into his mind, _-Finally…_

Its strides promptly change, becoming far-reaching and hurried. Its grace is relegated to speed as the Original One descends from the sky. The wheel about its abdomen is aglow and the gems in its sharp arms are glistering emerald in the radiance of its host. The shadowed face contorts with unfathomable emotions warring to be expressed; only its stare unfalteringly holds the relief and joy that have appeared ever since its eyes find his. Its every breath seems like a word – endearments, laments, relief – anything that express the multitudes of feelings in the Original One. In fact, Ash flushes with embarrassment at this cascade of unsaid affection, pleasantly aware that all those are meant to him and him only. 

_-My heart dearest,_ Arceus murmurs and the grass-blades around him sway with the rise and fall of its speech. _-I have found you – at last, I have found you…!_

More than words are being sent to him in that declarations although Ash cannot specify exactly what. His best description of it is feeling like a sea-wave is lapping over his body, lasting at most for a few seconds but leaving in him a warm, tingling sensation that settles his lungs and stomach. 

When Arceus makes landfall in the meadow, the vegetation suddenly burst in a series of waves, unleashing from their tips intense lights that make Ash avert his eyes momentarily – and when the intense glow fades, it is revealed that the grasses surrounding it are no longer monochromatically silver but vibrant with hues. The straw-like stalks are now of green healthy colour; the ends laden with blood-red tulips, poppies and carnations. While Ash is gawking at this unexpected transformation in the scenery, Arceus pays no heed to the beauty around it as if it does not even notice of the changes, instead striding resolutely through the swaying flowers towards the Ketchum. 

_-I have searched long and hard, dearest Ash. I have no idea…_

Words fail the Pokémon when it stands before the human. He can see the tension in its neck and limbs, being as close as they are now – a few more steps forward and he will be within reaching distance of the Pokémon’s front leg if he is to outstretch his arm. Ash tries to understand why there is reluctance now when it seems to want nothing more than to be reunited with him just a few seconds ago, but nothing seems to make sense. 

_“Arceus, what’s the matter?”_ He reaches out a hand when he says these, and it seems that these are enough to coax Arceus to take the necessary steps and close the distance between them. 

Arceus lets its bulk fall to the ground, scattering flower petals in a colourful whirls as it does so, and gratefully parts its front limbs to admit the Ketchum between them. Ash pushes further and embrace the Pokémon as best as he can, distantly frustrated that his arms are not able to cover the girth of its torso entirely but is equally elated that there is Arceus at all here for him to wrap his arms around. He pushes his face into the chest before him, breathing in the familiar scents of earth, flowers and herbs that are natural of the Original One, and the comforting warmth of its body. Arceus drops its head down and presses its chin into the small of Ash’s back, urging him closer, sighing in wordless bliss as it feels the grasp of his fingers on the muscle-lined hide underneath the soft furs. 

_-…but why? Why did you not answer when I call to you? Why would you not return? Why –_

Arceus sounds like asking these cost it every granule of self-restraint to remain comprehensible. Its voice wavers delicately, mere moments away from breaking down before Arceus discontinues the flood of inquiries. The pressure on Ash’s spine increases as if Arceus is struggling to keep itself in the present and he is its anchor. Or perhaps to keep him to stay as he is. 

_-Surely,_ the Blackbird, momentarily forgotten in its quiet observation, scoffs from its perch, _-you do not suggest that he prefers to remain here? Such devotion you have shown in coming; do not mar it now with that petty doubt. If you have seen his grief, you would not dare propose such questions to his face._

Something said so bluntly may have invited Arceus’ ire in any other case but this time, Ash can feel the Pokémon flinches. If he looks at its face right now, he can imagine the shadows of guilt creeping onto it. Instead of doing that and maybe subjecting Arceus to more discomfort than it already is in, he tightens his grasp on its neck. The body stiffens as if the Pokémon is expecting something completely opposite of what he is doing. 

_“I’m just glad you’re here, Arceus. I don’t know what’s happened to me after…”_ He remembers the ghost, an unholy spiritual combination of the bodiless Cyrus and the Shadow of Hoopa, but he is reluctant to delve further. Even here, at the Edge of Dreams, the agony of its touch makes him shiver. Instead, he says, _“When I finally woke up, I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t even remember who I am. I arrived here because of –”_

He peers back at the Bird, suddenly realizing why its presence has felt vaguely familiar to him. It was a brief encounter, though not one with negligible impact. Not when his Pikachu nearly ended up being a stone statue if Xerneas had not intervened. 

_“– because of Yveltal, or I still would’ve stuck on that desert.”_

At the naming of it, the Shadow-bird perks up with interest. The outlines of its head suddenly squirm without any hint of movement from its neck as if its very shape is losing coherency. When it solidifies again, what is once a featureless face save for the bill now possess eyes – a pair of turquoise gem-like orbs, eerily unblinking and jarring compared to the rest of its dark-themed figure but peculiarly mesmerizing as well. 

Ash feels the pressure on his back withdraws. Arceus is lifting its head to regard the Destruction Pokémon. For a second or two, Ash imagines Arceus being angry at being spoken to casually – even a little chidingly – but the Alpha Pokémon proves to be not in the mood to entertain its dignity or make denials at the moment. 

_-You are quite correct, unfortunately, but I realize it now. I will count it my luck that he is unharmed._

Two things occur to Ash then: One, is that Arceus sounds stilted, a little too refrained, like it is reining in its emotions from showing too plainly. Two, its expressions are likewise unnatural – granted, that face does not change as much as human’s but Ash is still concerned that he, being familiar enough with the Legendary Pokémon – that he still cannot certainly tell what is brewing in its head. 

Just as he is opening his mouth to say something, Yveltal speaks again, _-Then carry him away, Lord Protector. He has no business being here._

 _-That I shall do._ Arceus twists its head to look at Ash as best as it can, being a little difficult to do so with his nearness, _-Come with me, Ash. Your friends are waiting as well. I will show you the way as far as I can._

 _“My friends? Pikachu? He’s okay, right?”_ In the light of his reunion, Ash has subconsciously assumed the Pikachu’s safety since he has entrusted the care of his Pokémon in Brock and Dawn’s hand prior to his possession. That Arceus has not mentioned anything regarding the Pokémon has cemented his assurance – although now, brought to his conscious notice, he cannot help but ask for the peace of his mind. 

_-He is fine, although he is very, very worried of you. The others too._

_“‘The others’…?”_

_-Come back to us, Ash, and see for yourself._

Further inquiries are swallowed back when he becomes aware of the voices that call from… beyond. Somewhere that he cannot see but he thinks he knows, and even how to get there. It is a knowledge not told to him but instinctively known, like breathing and eating, a vitality to survival. He strains to listen because the voices are muffled as if by a great distance, although he can still work out his name in the myriad summons when he closes his eyes and concentrate on them. 

_“Take me back, Arceus. Please.”_

He prepares himself to climb aboard, knowing where he is expected to be the moment Arceus flattens its chest further to the ground. But for just a moment he hesitates, one step away from seating himself on Arceus’ back, and looks back at the lonely Bird perched on the leafless bough of the white tree, waiting for lost souls to stumble into its presence. Ash hopes he never has the chance to see the occasion, capable of imagining the horror of being torn apart and swallowed into nothingness. 

_“Thanks for looking out for me,”_ he calls out. Knowing that it is due to its grace that he is still here to be reunited with Arceus when he too, should have felt what it is like to be Devoured before isolation claims his sanity as it has the ghost of Cyrus and Shadow-Hoopa, maddened enough to consider a union of lost spirits bearable after their seemingly eternal prison of the Closed Worlds. 

_-You should not thank me,_ it murmurs – but Ash thinks he does hear a note of surprise in it. Besides that, its gem-eyes brighten tellingly and if there is something he has learnt from Arceus’ mode of expression, Yveltal is far from being displeased. _-…and do not come here again._

He waves his hand at the Dark Pokémon, unperturbed, but scarcely after he takes his seat on Arceus’ back, his steed is on the move. Its rising casts a wave of red and mauve petals, dislodged from their host flowers, scattering into the air like some sort of a reserve rain, and fluttering serenely back down around them. The empty green-stalks immediately burst out new blossoms but where previously there are only tulips, poppies and carnations, new colours and shapes spring forth among them – from the eye-catching lily-of-the-valleys to the vibrant violets and hyacinths, delicate forget-me-nots and a collection of star-shaped white flowers that he does not recognize– although those remaining silver-grey that lies outside Arceus’ influence shows no sign of life about them and sways on with the breeze unconcernedly. 

He has assumed that Arceus’ presence is fuelling them with liveliness that is not to be normally found here. Life is what Arceus is, after all, but he begins to wonder why the collections inexplicably changed – or why it starts with the blooming of specific flowers in the first place and not just into every imaginable kind of blossoms. Surely – 

But before he can think of this further, the world slips smoothly by and places them in a new environment with a distinct lack of Yveltal. Thankfully, Arceus remains a comfortingly solid presence under him. His fingers seek to grasp the furs in front of him and tug absent-mindedly, unsure himself if it is saying gratitude, or relief, or pressure, or simply a desire to be in contact with it inasmuch as possible. 

“Oh – whoa…!” His voice no longer echoes disturbingly. It sounds more… _here,_ something real and present, both in time and place. “Where are we?” 

He still does not truly recognize the new place he finds himself in, although the sky is no longer bewildering. Star-scattered, a single white moon at its peak, a faint nebulous shawl that is the arm of the galaxy stretching from one horizon to the other, and not the red of the desert or the eerie sombreness at the Edge of Dreams. However, around him is an unfamiliar scene of a fog-bound path… or more accurately, Arceus is walking in the sky, using a trail of pink-tinted clouds as its ground-substitute without any apparent difficulty. In fact, the ease of its step seems to suggest that this is a perfectly normal mode of locomotion for the Pokémon. 

_-Dreams and realities may confusingly be so close, yet so far from each other at the same time. Here is where it is most confusing: The In-between. Where the two planes may overlap, and waking is easier… on most occasions._

Ash wants to thank Arceus for the ride but what comes out instead is silence. The misplaced formality is gone but in its place is even more disturbing weakness. A grief, perhaps. And anything that shows Arceus’ vulnerability grates against his conscience like sandpaper on velvet – the Original One should not look helpless ever again after Marcus’ attempt to entomb it alive underneath that shrine. He thinks back on the time when he was asked to consider if Arceus was acceptable as his life-partner – it was different than the disappointment and the searing, though helpless wrath it had displayed in its belief of being defeated by treachery. It was a deeper regret, a grey feeling that touches even him, an expectation of dejectedness that waits only for confirmation from his mouth. 

This is different yet, but he does not like it any better. 

But he keeps the silence to himself when he dismounts. His hands and legs manoeuvre through intricate hand- and footholds of Arceus’ bony projections and dips until both feet are safely planted on the clouds, as solid under his soles as any normal floor he encounters in his daily life despite its transient appearance. The experience is similar when he first set foot on the nearly-invisible floor in the Hall of Origin which similarly defies logical expectation. 

_-This is the furthest I can accompany you. You should know the rest of your way, though._

“Is it far away?” He does not know exactly what he means by this. The inquiry feels natural like only a forgotten knowledge that needs refreshing. He can almost envision it when he closes his eyes: a starlit road on a dark night, leading to a destination that he cannot see but nonetheless knows. 

_-It will only take a few steps._ And still there is longing in that few spoken words, bearing a thousand more meaning underneath them, not all of them understandable. 

It is frustrating. Enough that he stops wondering what lies ahead or of his own fate, and turns back to look at Arceus. Their differing heights is being greatly inconvenient but he can look past that easily. He has looked past many more glaring things that he should have raised the first chance when asked to be its consort. Instead, he has waited for progress and hints, and now, here they are. 

“Arceus, you’re not being yourself. I don’t like it when you’re keeping things to yourself, so tell me what’s this is all about.” 

Arceus is very proficient at looking alarmed, he discovers. The tensing of muscles and the brightened eyes cannot be misconstrued as something else. Guilt creeps in but he stomps down on it resolutely. He wants to know. He needs to, but Arceus’ current guardedness is different than the normal residue of its reserve. This goes beyond worrying and straight into being extremely disturbing. 

_-We will talk,_ Arceus eventually hisses after a few deeply unsettling seconds of stare-off, _-once you are safely returned._

“No. I know you, Arceus. You’re just going to ignore it after this. Or you’re gonna make me forget everything about this.” 

_-Perhaps I will. But as for now, you need to go back. Immediately._

“Arceus, I’m not one of your Legendary Pokémon! I have the right to know! Tell me why, or I swear I’m going to stay here until you do!” 

_-Do not make it difficult, Ash!_ Arceus is as close to snapping its teeth in front of his face, though the impulse is reigned just in time and its head is turned away at the last second. _-I… I have faced enough of it to retrieve you._

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who’s about to become insane – or eaten by Yveltal. Don’t talk to me like I’ve got nothing to lose!” 

Ash struggles to avoid recalling too much details of the incident. After all, the coiled snake that guards his memories of the encounter with the ghost of Cyrus and Shadow of Hoopa is likewise rearing to strike if he so much tries to do more than a passing glance. But he still cannot understand why is this barrier suddenly between them that prevents their reunion to be as liberating as he would like and, in his frustration to pursue the truth, has been rendered insensitive to the Pokémon’s visible wincing from the sharpness of his retort. 

_-No, of course not… You should not have to suffer when the fault is mine._

A deep, resigning inhalation from above. Ash waits for its reply which comes to him not in words but with having Arceus settling itself down before him, mirroring the posture which it has taken upon arriving at the Edge of Dreams. Its face if of resistance – no, it is a mask of it. Something is crumbling behind it, making Ash aches all the more to understand… until he comes to himself to realize how his desperate curiousity has turned instead into scathing insolence, a second too late to take it back. 

“Oh, no – Arceus –” 

What can he say? What _should_ he say? A mixture of panic and helplessness rise in his throat and make him feel sick which he holds back by sheer willpower. He should have known without having to see the protective shell around Arceus crumbles to the last piece. He should have recognized it – he had seen it before, the dullness of self-loathing, as poisonous as the day Arceus asked to love him without truly believing itself worthy of it. 

_-I owe you so many apologies – yet I am afraid of making it and facing the consequences. That I DARE hope I will be forgiven without due penance!_ A strip of interlocking whites appears on its face where there was only a thin decorative line previously: its sharp teeth, gritted so tightly together Ash is expecting blood to trickle from the gums any minute now. _-…The Edge of Dreams – no wonder I was unable to sense you before!_

“I – Arceus, I’ve never blamed you. Things just… happened beyond our control. And – and you’ve found me in the end, so…” 

_-And yet I have had so many chances where it could be prevented. If only I was more careful in purging the ghost; if only I have arrived earlier, before you were taken; if only I. Had. NOT. LEFT...!!!_

The few last words are not spoken but drawn out in a howl and the world trembles with the unseen force that Arceus’ shattered emotions are radiating. It slams into his psyche like a physical blow to the head but Ash forces himself to ignore the pain; bringing down the hands he has clasped on his ears is an effort but he manages in the end. It will pass quickly enough unlike the Legend’s self-loathing. He makes his way to the downed head, feeling his breaths coming in a little more difficult with every step forward. He schools his expressions into something as close to neutral as he can manage and fights through the tightening in his chest. Ash fumbles to his knees – but what he sees when he has coaxed the face to turn his way makes him rigid with anxiety. The edge of its eyes glisten with the unmistakable beginning of tears, but Arceus quickly wrenches itself out of Ash’s grasp. 

His thoughts instantaneously fight to form words in his throat, silently cursing himself for his ineptitude all the while. “Arceus, I –” 

_– no, don’t cry, why are you crying, why –_

“Arceus, it’s not your fault!” 

Ash is afraid of saying the wrong thing then. Arceus stares at him like this is certainly the case… but then, its gaze is downed that scarcely allows anything to be seen of the shadowed features but the tinges of red and green of its eyes. To see Arceus hides is as painful as looking into its eyes and finding that a wretched stare is meeting his. Ash has seen this before, how the weight of a perfect expectation that it has failed to fulfil is tearing it apart. Arceus’s worry is merciless, and his own transient existence next to Arceus’ millennial lifespan is casting a darker cloud in its mind. 

_-Then you are being too lenient with me. Your life is mortal enough as it is; you do not need me to put you in a greater risk…_

Ash feels himself sickened to the core. Bile fills his mouth. A heavy depression descends on him, almost tangible to feel, that upsets his stomach and tears through his brain with invisible claws. For a moment he cannot say what is happening before realizing that all of these are ‘merely’ manifestations of the unravelling of Arceus’ mental being. With great difficulties, he makes himself ignore the phantasmal sensations, pushing down his rising panic and forcing his much-needed wits together. There are scarce things that he can do but he will _not_ waste what little he is capable of. Ash carefully places his hands on both sides of its face, careful to keep his touch confident without being demanding. Something warm flows over the back of his hands, the first few trickles spilling from the inhuman eyes of his lover. He tries to brush the droplets away but they soak into its fur instead, and more is flowing out faster than he can attend. 

_-Ash…_ His name is uttered as softly as the unsourced breeze that flows across his skin. _-…I have failed you so many times, I scarcely know if I can face you again. I… I feared… that I have ceased being worthy of being held on to. It is a wonder that you still welcome me as you did._

“Arceus, hey… I’m not saying that I’m okay with what had happened but…” Unfortunately, not for the first time he wishes that he is better with words, if only to coax Arceus from being so inclined to put all the blame on itself. He breathes in another calming inhalation and tries again, “Look here, Arceus. I _knew,_ ever since you proposed to me, that things are not going to be smooth sailing all the way. But I’ve decided that I’m prepared to go through with it. I… I love you. I want to be with you as long as I can. And how I feel about you doesn’t change after what we’ve been through.” 

There is no question about this. He feels the truth of it even as he says these and hopes that Arceus can sense it as well. Come to think of it, he does not say it outright as often as he should have… it is a shame, really, since who else is he going to say such things if not to his life-partner? It is too close for his comfort to think that he almost has no 'next time' to think of. His greatest regret is that he is not convinced of doing justice to the delicate trembling in his belly or the warmth that travels from his chest to his ears and face whenever he looks at Arceus and discovers the peculiar eyes are set upon him with interest. It does not tell of the ache to wrap his arms around the Pokémon and combs his fingers through the silken fur. And it does not seem adequate to tell the other how, after the succession of memories of lovers he could have, it is ultimately the thought of the Original One that simultaneously lightens his chest and burn into him with passion others have tried to charm out of him. 

The wave that surges over him makes him gasp, although instead of drowning as he initially expects he is awash with a sensation of lightness, his chest filled not with liquid-like heaviness but a soothing warmth that finds its way throughout his body. Belatedly he realizes the soft radiance that suffuses the form of the Original One, a manifestation of relief, joy… and an odd sense of melancholy, a gentle undercurrent that he cannot quite explain its reasoning. He gives up understanding, taking comfort in that it is not nearly as alarming as the vicious self-loathing Arceus has shown previously, since the gold-edged forehead is now distracting him with the careful nuzzles into his palm; slowly inching its way up his arm, then to his neck… settling finally on his chest, right above where his heart is. A soft crooning fills his ears and rattles him to the bones, mingling with the awe and serenity that have taken their places readily the moment he beholds the glow of the Alpha Legend. 

It may be that breaths are not strictly needed here but Ash can still feel the warm gusts wash over him. Perhaps it is because he expects Arceus to be breathing, so that is exactly what he perceives. 

_-…Ash, I cannot imagine myself loving you more than I already did, but… how you have proven me wrong yet again._

Again, he feels colour and heat rise to his cheeks. Despite being used to aloofness, once Arceus embraces open honesty, Ash really cannot help his reactions. If he has to describe it, it feels like when he first looked at a nude pin-up of some model he had stumbled on the internet, but minus the arousal. In addition, he also becomes super-aware of himself – how his breaths quickened and his heartbeats sound unnaturally loud in his ears, or that his fingers are curling in the locks of Arceus’ fur until he forces his grasp to ease, or that his toes are curling and his feet aching to shift from one leg to another restlessly – as if his senses are suddenly heightened to preternatural level. 

Despite all these, he can feel a smile is shyly tugging at a corner of his mouth. 

Quite out of the blue, Arceus draws away from his embrace; the pointed tip of its forehead lies warmly on his shoulder instead. Ash can just make out from his position that it is no longer openly weeping although the stains of its tears remain as a wet trail through the fur below its eyes. 

_-Forgive me. We should not tarry any longer, Ash. You really should be back by now,_ Arceus murmurs into his ears although its own speech barely hides its longing. 

“Arceus, wait – …” He does not want to be separated from the Legendary Pokémon so soon. It is only a short while ago that he regained the memories of his life. Who knows how time actually works in the zones between dreams and waking reality, but for Ash seemingly none has passed since his reunion with the Original One. 

More importantly, Ash is not sure whether Arceus has been successfully relieved of its gloom despite its encouraging signs of improvement. If it is not, he is afraid that it will come to haunt it back the moment Arceus is left to its own device. 

_-For me, Ash. Please. I… I cannot bear to see you here, unreturned to your rightful place._

“…Promise me you’ll wait, Arceus. When I wake up or – or something, I want to see you there.” Somehow it troubles him worse than he thought it will be: going up the stairs of the maid sisters' café, a little extra bounce in each ascending step, only to find the room empty when he opened the door. The shock is mild, but the ache of emptiness, of being left out – and discarded, if he wants to be honest – fill him dreadfully. Though doubt sounds like a strong word to use here, he has wished that the departure has not been motivated by something about him which signals of compromising weakness. 

_-I swear on my heart. Please, Ash. Quickly now. Your friends and I eagerly wait for your Awakening._

As if the universe itself conspires to Arceus’ end, the far-off calls of his names in their many voices float softly to his ears the very moment the Pokémon is done speaking, when the place is momentarily void of noises save for his breathing. He tilts his head to listen, finding them more easily discerned from one another than when he has attempted similar feat back at the Edge of Dreams. First and foremost is Pikachu, the backbone of the summoning – he recognizes it anywhere even though for as long as he can remember the Pokémon does not quite speak human words and gradually joined with other voices which are regaining strengths in the symphony. 

Before he realizes it, his legs have taken the pre-emptive course without a say from his conscious mind. The clouds drift in accordance to his steps as though his walking does not move his body but the clouds under his feet. The discrepancy between his expectation and what he is seeing catches him in a momentary dizziness until he makes himself stop to get his bearing. Glancing back to ask Arceus what is happening, much to his surprise the Original One is no longer there. 

_-You have nothing to fear, Ash. Go on,_ Arceus’ disembodied voice drifts to him as though the Pokémon is reading his reluctance. He can almost sense the familiar comfort conveyed via Arceus’ golden aura when he listens to it. 

“Alright… I’m going now.” He trembles, but only for a moment. The sensation that Arceus is there somewhere emboldens him to follow the calling of his friends despite the lack of visible presence. 

From the distant Hall of Origin, he has been watched over faithfully until he too, began to learn to see Arceus in the same way. Even at the Edge of Dreams, he was sought and found again. Those eyes will not fail him now and with that thought, he braves through the haze that prickles at his skin with dew-like coolness and follows his secret path.


	26. There And Back Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long while away, it is now time to return home...

Detaching itself from the meditation is easy for Arceus but to take care of five other minds calls for delicateness; otherwise the pressure of Arceus’ mind will be like pulling a barb out of cotton on them. The thorns will need to be smoothed out, the withdrawal meticulous. Nevertheless, the disconnection is still somewhat of a shock to them since Arceus – being the nucleus of the link – is the one who ceases its mental touch rather than the other way round. One by one, they emerge from their ‘trance’ heaving in deep breaths like someone newly emerged from underwater. Sensing also the success of Arceus’ mission, Xerneas’ connective tendrils withdraw first from Ash, unwinding themselves delicately but with eye-blinding pace from Ash first before those connected to Arceus too are retracted. The Forestkeeper is noticeably tender as it does this but still Arceus has to bite back the gasps from escaping; watching, meanwhile, with a sort of mild forlorn as the source branch recalls the extensions into itself until the matter with Ash calls more substantially on the side-effect of the withdrawal. 

_-It is done,_ Arceus announces, more to the benefits of Pikachu and the humans, whilst barely able to hide the relief from showing in its speech, _-Ash will be among us any moment now._

In the next moment, Arceus wonders why is there a need to moderate itself at all. If Ash is its mate, Arceus is entitled to all the rights in the world to let everybody present see how important he is to its happiness. Then again, it is unsure if the openness will be much appreciated by Ash – Magical Creatures in general will be more than happy to display affection to their partners, naturally, but the humans function on different social acceptability. If Dialga was keen on pushing forward its bond-mating with Ash, such hurriedness may not be quite well-received by the majority of the humans; while yet some others will be as unconcerned (sometimes dangerously forward) as a Salazzle. Even in this small pool, Arceus is uncertain what to expect – Pikachu will certainly not mind; Brock, already in the know of their relationship though being somewhat accidental, seems to accept it reasonably well, a contrast to what Arceus glimpses from Dawn. She too does not lash out as Ash have feared which he had expressed being a very likely reaction from the majority of the people a few times before, but it can sense… not hostility, but something of a denial. That Sycamore is a concern as well – a relative stranger to Arceus but not apparently to Ash, there are a lot of uncertainties involved as how best to arrange itself before him, although for some unidentifiable reason, Arceus is a little more comfortable with Diancie’s presence. 

And so, Arceus resigns itself to hover a few steps back while his friends circle around him, peering at every aspect of him for symptoms of the aforementioned waking. Arceus too participates in the frantic scrutiny if somewhat more discreet owing to the distance although the sharpness of its eyes more than make up for it. It checks the pacing of his breaths, the slight flutters of his eyelids or the movements of eyeballs, the tiniest jerk of limbs, far more meticulously than the closer humans ever can perceive with their senses. However, Arceus’ main determinant is the fluctuations of his Aura and the innate connection between them that marks who Arceus and Ash are to each other. His mind is, for the moment, a peaceful landscape which allows a measure of calm more than it permits of itself in over a week. All that is left to do is to wait, which is quite fine for the Legend. Waiting is a game Arceus has played for countless of years in so many situations – although admittedly, when it comes to this particular Trainer, Arceus’ patience seems to be mysteriously diminished. 

Thankfully, it does not stretch to the usual waiting standard. Arceus can feel it first – the ripple in its mind where its attention is focused on Ash. He is never dead in the first place but to Arceus’ perception, the liveliness that is Ash pours back into his physical body. Scarcely moments after, Pikachu, who is closest and in possession of greater senses that the humans, bark loudly. _Ash,_ it says in his critter-language, _Ash is coming back, it’s happening._

Something similar is repeated by Diancie although Arceus’s mind is not fully on it to discern what is exactly said. It is too busy minding its own reactions at the moment. 

Arceus’ heart leaps up, right to the back of its mouth and threatening to choke it before settling back down in its chest while leaving a trail of liquid warmth along the inside of its throat. It forces itself to stay as it is, just _stay,_ and let the others take their time with Ash. He needs them, the comfort of familiarity, after the emptiness of Yveltal’s domain and his temporary forgetfulness. Pikachu – yes, surely, _most definitely._ His most faithful friend and companion. Brock and Dawn as well, their worth proven when they braved the leagues between Sendoff Spring and Allearth Forest to find the Ketchum. Arceus wonders about Sycamore but decides that his presence will only delay a few seconds from Ash’s recognition. Hardly a wait there. 

That does not wash away the lurking dissatisfaction that wants to compete with them to greet him, barring only Pikachu. That little creature earns his right there – Arceus will not dream of tarnishing it. 

Ash’s Awakening is peaceful and untroubled, a direct contrast to what Arceus experienced upon breaking the hibernation in trying to heal itself after the event in the alternate-Michina. To be honest, waking with a chaotic mental is almost like falling into water from a great height that brings about burning pain that bites into every inch of your body, amplified a hundredfold. Arceus secretly envies it and glad at the same time. It is not something it wishes upon others, least of all its beloved mate. A slow but deep, deep inhalation, taking in as much air as the lungs can, and lets it out in an equally slow, drawn-out exhalation, slowly evening out to a sustained yet relaxed breathing. A little trembling of the eyelids before they slide all the way up, revealing the bright eyes beneath that have been hidden for far too long. The too-dry lips part, perhaps at the verge of saying something, but what comes out now is only a soft moan. 

_“Pika-pi!”_ Pikachu exclaims and, heedless of everything else, scrambles on top of his Trainer’s chest to give him a hug. The biggest, warmest hug that he is capable of, face pressed into the crook of his neck and paws grasping for handhold crumpling the front of the shirt. 

Ash opens his mouth, croaks something incoherent, coughs a little, and tries again. “I miss you too, Pikachu. It’s so good to see you, I’m so glad you’re alright…” and reciprocates the hug as best as he can with the stiffness in his limbs making every movement aches, as if he is suddenly affected by arthritis. Not that it stops him for long – Ash’s cheeks press against Pikachu’s back and his hug closes tighter around the Pikachu without cutting off either capacity for breaths. Only the wag of Pikachu’s tail is objectively telling the others how delighted he is at the moment, the rest of his body being mostly obscured by the covering of Ash’s arms. Consolations are exchanged in murmured words too soft for even Arceus to confidently determine, only that they provide each other the long-due relief. 

A pang of longing in its chest; Arceus stomps on it mercilessly and waits. 

“Brock. Dawn.” Ash says as he notices their presences. “… I’m so glad you’re all okay… I tried everything I could to delay… _it.”_

Ash stops himself there, teeth biting nervously into his lower lips. Arceus feels his fear; longs to reach out and soothe him but his friends do that just fine on their own. Throwing their arms across his shoulders, a reassuring pat on the back. Whispers of forgiveness and assurances; explaining to him how they end up in Allearth Forest from the Sendoff Spring. The Legend struggles with something like a subset of jealousy – a yearning to connect to him as they do, seamlessly and easily, like stitching together a mirror-twin of a broken piece, unbound by the trappings of social limits. 

_Wait,_ it tells itself fiercely, _Ash will not forgo me. Here, he said. He wants me here._

Still weakened, Ash does not try to sit up. Instead, he lifts his upper body for a moment or two to look around cautiously, although more people catch his attention before he can determine his current location. “Diancie? And Prof. Sycamore, you are here too!” 

They come to him. Sycamore’s hands atop his, grasping the pale fingers. Diancie is pushing back obscuring strands of hair and tucking them behind his ears, which last five seconds at most. Ash cracks a smile at something being said; say something in return that makes Sycamore and Diancie chuckle, clearly relieved. Ash lets himself fall back, exhausted by even this little socializing, not that it surprises Arceus after what he has been through. 

Then: “Arceus.” A smile in its name first before Ash’s mouth reflects it. There is a little rebuke in it as well and a sigh that seems to say, _I thought so, I just know you’ll be there._ “…I said I want to see you. Why are you all the way back?” 

An overstatement: Not 'all the way back', only a few steps behind the others. Enough for a space without Arceus’ bulk to clutter up the space but the guilt is nonetheless there and the correction is confined to its mind only. The others’ faces clearly show bafflement: Something is missed, they know, but of what they do not dare to ask or are prudent enough to refrain themselves. Arceus is fine with it – let them be the ones waiting now while it approaches Ash finally, trying so hard not to prance like an unbecoming Deerling. Arceus settles down beside him, legs folded primly, taking a small liberty to keep its side in contact with his. Ash’s bright eyes watch it all over, taking in details that Arceus is not entirely sure of what nature. Arceus wonders what is seen of its face since that it where his gaze lingers the longest and most thoughtfully. 

He stretches out his left arm, the fingers splayed open, beckoning its approach. Arceus obeys, biting back questions and the flood of confusing greetings it means to say previously. It pushes its face into it, taking care to arrange itself so that the hand is where Ash usually places it anyway. A mild pressure and pulling gestures from the fingers against its cheek prompts it forward and closer, pleasantly aware that his other hand is now holding it by the lower jaw. In the back of its mind, a small voice warns that this is approaching the limit of public intimacy ( _humans do it all the time,_ Arceus huffs internally, _why am I expected to limit myself?_ But still it will not argue further than a little ineffectual rant). So close, _too close_ ; his breaths are felt on its face and ruffling the patch of longer furs on its face, while Arceus’ too sways the unruly hair at the forefront of his head. A finger experimentally dips into the path of fur below its eyes, scratching and feeling, and it withdraws without finding or taking anything visible; only that Ash seems satisfied with whatever he has gained by doing so. 

Now is the time. Its greeting. It will not do to delay any longer. 

_-Ash –_

And the rest, the long, heartfelt remaining words that wait patiently at the edge of utterance for their turn all these while, simply scramble back defeated by the mouth that presses against its own. Arceus’ eyes are opened so it can see and remain so out of shock; Ash looks only long enough to find his target – the innocuous ‘decorative’ lines on its face, of which the lower one serve also to hide its mouth – and captures it in a kiss, then he is closing his eyes to better relish the feel of his partner. Not just a quick brush either; the lips move inquiringly, a little impatiently, desire and contentment intermingled into one inseparable thing. 

It is unacceptable, surely? A kiss? Right in the open, in broad daylight, surrounded by his friends – 

_His lips are too dry,_ Arceus notices with a start. He needs to drink water soon or risk imminent dehydration. He may as well be right now. 

He is still kissing and Arceus is still the petrified fool. This needs to change quickly for both of their sakes. 

Foregoing most of its moderation, Arceus finally responds. Not by opening its mouth because somehow to show others that, yes, it does have perfectly serviceable jaws, seems too much like an embarrassing exposure to others barring Ash and his Magical Creatures. The kiss, though, it cannot be denied. If Ash is fine in showing it, Arceus has no qualms to indulge this little exhibition and presses back gently, goading him to lay down and saving him the trouble to prop himself up in closing the short gap between them. Its eyes are dimmed, letting its other senses to come alive with everything that has to do with Ash’s touch. His scent is subdued but still noticeable, a musk that is underlain with a citrusy zest which Arceus takes great comfort in inhaling its familiar, fruity tones. His hands are firm with their hold that Arceus suspects that if it is to draw back, it will bring Ash along rather than dislodging the grasp. 

But why the rush? If Ash wants to keep kissing… well, from the first time he touches that slightly rough lips to its face, Arceus has been particularly partial of it, wordlessly delighting in the closeness and the touch of hide-and-skin, the warm circulation of breaths in the limited space between them, the openness Arceus has to allow of itself to admit Ash into the kiss. And that lasts until Ash is positively gasping for air, Arceus passively wondering where his breaths have gone, or what they have been spent on since they have not involved anything too provocative (although Arceus can feel a little bit of tongue, a lingering swipe that is there just for the sake of contact rather than a request to enter) and Arceus has kept its own maw shut throughout it all. Not that it is uninterested to reciprocate with more eagerness – but privacy and decency both frowns against too much exposure, tempting though as it is. What Arceus shares with him is not all to be displayed for public ogling, no matter what Dialga may have thought about that. 

Ash opens his mouth to say something but a wild exclamation cuts in. Kalosian, Arceus suspects; its grasp on most dialects of the region is not as flattering as it would like, and definitely from that man Sycamore. 

_“Je n’en crois pas mes yeux!”_

Something about surprise, that is for certain. That is understandable – Arceus is just amazed Ash is not immediately under assault of inquiries and, thankfully, insults, the moment he shows his interest in Arceus. In retrospect, Arceus should have recognized that twinkle in his eyes which always holds a promise – or at least, an idea – of some sort that will involve Arceus in ways it will not do in any other circumstances. On the other hand, Ash is always the reluctant one to do anything that platonic friends do not do to/with each other, regardless of them having no audience except for the wildlife and his Magical Creatures. 

Ash, true to his nature, is back to looking embarrassed and awkward. He fiddles with his fingers, grasps at his clothing. Arceus recognizes the signs and softly bumps his shoulders, quiet reassurances that it has nothing against his loving show. That gives him a measure a confidence back. 

“Uh… I… I guess you’ve… um – you’ve all met Arceus…” 

_“Oh, pardon!_ I am just surprised – You and Arceus…?” Indeed, his eyes are not accusing and his face is not pinched with disgust but rather thoughtful interest as if he has found something to be focused on investigating. 

“...Yeah. Something like that, I suppose. Arceus calls us bonded mates –” And his blush intensifies to the point of looking like he has been slapped in the face after a particularly disastrous date, with his Aura following suit with a blue, excited flare. 

A sudden urge of prideful possessiveness comes over the Alpha Legend for reasons it does not wholly understand. Maybe it is seeing the apparent blush and the pleasantly warm look in his eyes, all things that mark Ash’s readiness to acknowledge who Arceus is before them, his own pride for having Arceus to call as his own. Arceus is tempted to make its personal addition but decides to let it pass – its actions have practically screamed its commitment to the human, it is better to leave the verbal confirmation to Ash alone. 

_“Hmm._ Interesting, that. I’ve heard of Pokémon-and-human pairs, but a Legendary Pokémon…” The intrigue is obvious on his face, how the lines on his forehead creases in thoughts – How are you two managing? – and Arceus cannot help from recalling the innocence on Ash’s face while he requests for their first mating, how unbelievably delightful his touches on its person, be it from his hands or mouth or skin of any part of his body… 

They manage just fine, all in all. 

_“Excusez-moi!_ We ought to leave you two to yourselves, _non?”_

_-No, stay._ This comes from Arceus, quieting the reply Ash means to give and earning itself a confused stare from its human partner. _-It is best if Ash is surrounded by familiarity. I am merely one of the new additions in his life._

Arceus does not miss the disapproval from the Ketchum, unspoken yet palpable in the grasps of his fingers and the vibrations of his Aura, but that is for the best. As much as Arceus wants him for itself, Ash is a creature who needs to be part of a larger whole and surrounded by those he loves, very much unlike its solitary self. Arceus attaches itself to only a select few; Ash sweeps everything and everyone into his arms like a massive celestial body with its own gravity well. After this terrifying episode of lost-and-found, Arceus much rather keep him in optimal conditions as befitting his nature even if it possibly means his neglect of the Legend. 

“Now, hang on –” 

Not _total_ neglect, then. Arceus can hear the bite of disagreement in his opening words even though the volume itself speaks of exhaustion. Arceus overrides him quickly with a mental voice raised a notch louder, _-Your place, then. Somewhere you can be secure and comfortable, somewhere to support your sense of identity._

Ash huffs an awkward laugh despite the sneaky wheezes in his every exhalation. “Alright, now you make me sound like I’m mental or something. Like I’m just waiting for a call from a nuthouse.” 

_-Familiarity,_ Arceus dryly reminds him, _-and your loss of memories, while a repeat performance is unlikely at this point, should be treated like a possibility. None of us wished it happening ever again._

“But I don’t feel like going back to my house. I’ve just moved a year ago – it’s not really, um, _homey,_ I guess…?” 

Arceus is pondering on this newest piece of complication when Brock pipes up, “Why not go back to your house in Pellet town?” 

The Legend thinks it is an excellent idea although the Ketchum’s frown says of a different opinion. “I don’t want mom to be worried –” 

_-Don’t be ridiculous. A mother is always happy when a child comes home._

“Comes home _uninjured,_ you mean.” 

“Well, we ought to find a room soon, it looks like.” Sycamore’s little cough is very unconvincing to be taken as natural – not that he looks particularly concerned in authenticity anyway – but it does serve the universal purpose of attention-gathering. “Ash, I’m speaking from experience when I say: Just do as Arceus says. It’s a losing battle.” 

While Ash is theatrically huffing and rolling his eyes, inside Arceus is gleefully savouring the triumph. An unexpected supporter of its idea especially when it comes to the Ketchum’s wellbeing is welcomed any time of the day. Arceus can and will argue until Ash relents but seeing as its mate is a rather resolute man may mean too much wasted time than its liking. Sycamore just makes its life a little easier which deserves a favourable outlook on the man. 

_-You are definitely NOT injured anymore. It is only a precaution,_ Arceus sighs finally. Ash’s silence and lip-biting is not an outright approval, only acknowledging futility to fight against its wish. _-If it is of any consolation, I assure you that I will come along – that is, if you wish so…?_

“Arceus,” he says, his voice becoming strained and lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, “…my mom doesn’t know that we’re bonded. She didn’t even know I’ve been meeting anyone at all!” 

Ash has a decency to look simultaneously embarrassed and defensive when shot with a disbelieving glare, further confirmed by the restless thumb-twiddling and his suddenly shifty eyes. However, the shock of his Pikachu upon discovering the advancement in their relationship at the Michina Festival should have spoken volumes about what to expect now. 

_-Then this will be a good opportunity to introduce myself to her._

Arceus is aware how the prospect of finally meeting its mate’s parent settles not so comfortably in its belly. It cannot afford to lose her approval for the sake of Ash and their relationship while also realizing how devastating it is for a child to go against one’s parents if things do not easily go their intended ways. However, for Ash’s peace of mind, Arceus projects as much confidence to be found in its bearings. 

“You’re _unbelievable,_ Arceus.” The words should sound angry and the tone is low with dissatisfaction, but a corner of his lips pinches invitingly. That single readily missable gesture that Arceus nevertheless notices unravel a knot or a hundred in its chest. 

With that said and done, Arceus turns its attention to the rest of the waiting outside world: To the Pikachu, who looks rather bored by an exchange which may have been repeated a number of times with minimal variations. To the sharp-and-sparkling-eyed Sycamore, his interest in their banters straddling a fine line of academic and casual curiousity. To Diancie, her initial astonishment softening to a confusing mixture of pride and gladness, particularly for Ash. To Brock, whose unabashed grin shouts something along the line of _I knew it!;_ and finally to the still-guarded Dawn, her Aura reading confusion (for Arceus) and acceptance (for Ash), however contradictory it may seem initially. In that moment, Arceus’ preliminary uncertainty in the outlook of these people changes a little – now it is not sure what to make out of the girl, while Sycamore, having revealed where his curiousity lays and with Ash showing clear recognition of the man, is definitely undeserving of a Judgement at point-blank range. 

Oh, Arceus is far from naïve. _Jealous_ comes as the first answer to the way she seems to tiptoe around the Legend, though it is not quite so once it allows a bit more thinking – more likely, it feels like a resignation in letting go something – or someone – who is beyond one’s grasp. Arceus understands it all too well: Jealousy is practically hardwired into the conducts of almost every Legend-levelled Magical Creature with its own responsibility or domain to watch over, and Arceus guards so many things at once it is quite terrifying how all of that… that _protectiveness_ is condensed around the small figure of Ash Ketchum. 

With that in mind, is it still a surprise that Dawn should show confusion? In fact, Arceus’ hesitance stems more out of what will be considered a reasonable way to present itself to her. If she is important to Ash, Arceus is more than ready to extend its camaraderie to her; on the other hand, how to face a girl who has travelled across the regions in search of him? At the very least, though, she seems willing to learn and adapt to the new dynamics if given ample time. That is a sentiment it can definitely appreciate and deserving of a praise. 

_-I believe our next destination is quite clear,_ Arceus declares all the while its brain makes those mental assessments. _-In the meantime, I request for a… familiar company. I do not think it to be courteous for myself to show up on his doorstep as an apparent stranger, unannounced._

“’Stranger’? You mean to say that Ash’s mom didn’t know that you’re _together?”_ Brock interrupts with a hint of a shrillness that is not usually found in his confident voice. “That’s just – … You know what? Never mind, I’ll tag along with you guys.” 

_-I was hoping you would._ Arceus is about to ask the same thing to Dawn but stops itself just in time, suddenly realizing the potential meanness of it. Fortunately, what is bound to be a stretch of awkward silence is replaced by Dawn’s understandably hesitant interruption, “You don’t mind me tagging along back to Kanto too? Just – just to be on the safe side, you know.” 

Arceus ignores the brief prickling of indignation (what ‘safety’? It sounds like she is implying its incompetence to provide adequate protection – but of course that is just Arceus’ jealousy peeking and her being unsure herself how to word it, given the state of her Aura) and considers the rest of the rescuers party. For certain, not all of them can accompany Arceus this time on the basis of many reasons ranging from convenience to privacy, which brings to mind what can be done to accommodate the others. Arceus still harbours misgivings to use its powers too casually though for them it feels indebted to make an exception after all the inconveniences involved in chasing after Ash. Diancie should not be a problem since her domain is only a few hours away and a trip to Xerneas’ glade is apparently not unusual of her. On the other hand, Sycamore presents a bit of a puzzle, though when asked if he cares to be transported to the nearest town, he politely declines. 

“I’ve always wanted to explore the Allearth forest. Now that I am here, I think I should stay for a bit and I have the supplies to last me for a few days,” he has assured when Brock and Dawn press on with their concerns, which thereafter are assuaged by his reply. 

Which leads Arceus to the _why_ there is a need to be here in the first place, the avatar of whom is now materializing in its Deer forme in a swirling of light, sparkles and fallen leaves stirred from the ground. Ash, startled by the sudden reminder that there is an extra though largely inconspicuous company in their midst – although he easily recognized the leafless tree to be the inactive Xerneas, the fact is largely buried under the circumstances – struggles to brace himself up on his elbows to better view the Forestkeeper. It is like Arceus can almost see the succession of memories in his eyes pertaining to his encounter with Xerneas before, when he and Diancie were struggling with their lives to escape the maddened onslaught of Yveltal as has been previously disclosed by Xerneas itself to Arceus. 

The Deer speaks even before its manifestation is fully formed, _-I wish you the best of luck and a safe journey, Lord Arceus_ – its newly shaped head turns pointedly towards Ash, _-and you as well, Young Master. In the meantime, as long as you call yourselves the Alpha’s Consort, do take care of the Lord Arceus._

“I’ll… do my best. Though, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s me who need more saving than Arceus did.” His usual confidence has slipped off; his full-body glance on Arceus – from front to back, down to up and side to side – is more than just a little nervous, likely remembering and knowing the outrageous set of circumstances that enabled his contribution to be of any help in saving the Life Jewel-deprived Arceus are not very probably repeatable anytime soon. 

_-Curious, isn’t it, that both you and Lord Arceus have a penchant for not giving yourselves enough credits?_

Arceus means to contend – heartily so, it may add – but at the honestly baffled look on Ash’s face, it realizes that maybe Xerneas is not completely wrong after all. The first line of argument from Ash whereupon presented with Arceus’ proposal is that he is ‘just a normal guy’, although Arceus is fairly sure that anyone who has a record of plunging himself into ridiculous dangers, surviving relatively unscathed and saving a few lives here and there – including those of Legendary Creatures of various calibres – should not be categorized as a _just a normal guy._ On the other hand, Arceus cannot call itself innocent either when just now, Arceus is tempted to ponder on the implications of Ash with a much more conventional human girl as a choice of mate, somebody like Dawn perhaps, whose associations are not likely to cause him as dire a trouble compared to itself… 

Anyway, Xerneas does not seem persuaded to hear objections from either of them that whatever reply Arceus intends to make slips gradually into silence. 

_-Take care of each other,_ it says and the image dissolves once it gives Arceus’ neck one last nuzzle. There is connection still from the Tree-forme Xerneas but it is sleepy and reduced, resembling the state in which Arceus has initially come to it with a sick Ash on its back. Arceus sends back a farewell and a thank-you before releasing the mind back to its private peace. Perhaps a few days (or months) are needed before Xerneas can achieve the level of wakefulness as it has throughout Arceus’ desperate search for the Ketchum although in the same vein, Arceus is not quite worried since there is little enough reason for anyone or anything to break its slumber now. Ash still looks a fair bit troubled at Xerneas’ parting words; he looks up at Arceus and cracks a smile which ultimately comes off as anxious as his Aura indicates. 

_-Come, Ash,_ it bumps its forehead against one shoulder. However, Ash proves to be rather weak still because every attempt to get him back on his feet ends not a few seconds later with him sprawled or tumbling back until Arceus intervenes via the use of its tactile aura; wherelse Pikachu has no difficulty climbing up whatsoever and settling himself in front of Ash. 

Now the portal presents a bit of a problem. After the strain of its quest, Arceus is not convinced of optimal control to keep the pathway safely opened while in human disguise, which comes at a price of downscaled power. As it is, the Legend will have to make do with one that is stable enough for a Legendary Creature and several humans in tow where it is succinctly remote to avoid public notice – a task that, while requiring meticulous attention, is not as difficult as opening a pathway to accommodate two untransformed Legends at the same time, as it has been the case with their return journey from the Hall of Origin with Palkia. Furthermore, it is not so far between here and Kanto compared to its Hall with Earth. 

It is only a matter of time before Arceus locates a place that fills all the criteria, which takes only a minute at most. In no time at all a new portal to Pallet Town expands into being at the centre of the glade, the aura-laced rim dancing in a breath-taking light show. 

Brock and Dawn have retrieved their belongings from the Gogoat’s back and are now standing nervously at the mouth of the entryway. 

“Um… Giratina’s portal from the Distortion World is not as big as this, if I remember right…” 

“Y-yeah… Portals and teleportation – not our first time, hardly, but we don’t do it on daily basis to get comfortable enough.” Brock sounds honestly daunted as he stares down the colourfully rippling depth of the tunnel, whose ceiling curves about twenty feet above him, like he is staring into the gullet of a massive man-eating beast. “…Any tips?” 

“…Best if you do it at a bit of a run.” Ash does not say it with conviction, betraying the fact that he too still finds this mode of transportation unusual to say the least (though maybe that has something to do with his experiences in the Closed World, Arceus presumes) but his friends latch on to the advice like a gospel. 

(Arceus will _not_ deign itself to carry somebody other than its mate, thank you very much.) 

Sycamore and Diancie are waving them goodbyes as they step into the portal, Arceus taking the lead a few seconds earlier than its companions. Arceus senses hesitance from them but, like Ash himself, their willpowers soon overcome what their instincts fear. To hell and back, Arceus privately muses and reins in the budding discontent. They have done as close to it as possible as a human for Ash, and not just for this instance either – from Ash’s narrative of their past exploits, they have done things most sane humans will not. Brock, especially, must have been quite immune since he has had a longer acquaintance with Ash’s misadventures. 

Arceus, meanwhile, practically crashed into his life unceremoniously, all roaring and madness incarnate, ready to punish Legends and humans alike. Not exactly the prettiest first impression to give. By all means, Arceus is unremarkable in that it is only one of the individuals Ash has stumbled upon and helped. Though only a few years at most, the time his friends have had in advance with Ash yawns like an insurmountable canyon before Arceus. It is a wonder to this very day that Arceus can call the Ketchum its mate… 

A quiet voice admonishes from an unassuming corner of its brain: _Do give yourself enough credit, Lord Protector._

It is not Xerneas’ speaking, per se, but its voice as imagined by Arceus and conveniently summarising its parting words to boot. Not that it is not a good advice; the only problem is simply that Arceus is none the wiser when its self-esteem will exceed its worth and instead becoming a vanity. What exactly is its right that it can claim, when his friends have had undergone much more beforehand with him? What closeness Arceus can vouch if they have done the improbable and chased after him all the way to Allearth forest without much promise of its success? 

“Arceus?” 

_-Yes, Ash?_ Its thoughts are effortlessly broken, its awareness sliding with ease into the present. 

“Are you alright? You’re kinda… drifting off a bit there.” He sounds unsure – adorable, even. Something about the concern too plain to be hidden, but still afraid of letting it all show and implying ‘vulnerability’ in Arceus’ part in mixed company. 

Right there and then, Arceus feels the hunger to kiss him again. Sweet, sweet Ash. It is unexpected considering that Ash is the one who fills the role of the wounded one in this case, yet Arceus is the one whom he is worried about. 

_-I am as fine as could be hoped. How about you?_

“My back aches a little. And I’m tired… but I think I’m okay.” 

_-Just a little bit further, Ash. Just be patient with me for a while, alright?_

“Alright.” No hint of complaint in there. Instead, Ash simply relays the information to his friends before allowing himself to slump down on Arceus’ back. 

True to its word, the end of the colourful tunnel is soon within sight. In the small circle of light, like a lighthouse to disoriented sailors, the rocky tip of a faraway mountain is just visible and beckoning to the travellers. The audible sighs from Ash’s friends grow heartier when they finally step out onto solid ground of the real world. Although the exit point is specifically chosen for its desertedness while being close enough to Ash’s hometown, the portal is closed as soon as the last of them is out because Arceus is not inclined to risk attracting unwanted curious passers-by more than necessary. 

“Hang on, I know this place. That’s Mt. Hideaway!” Ash jolts up at Brock’s declaration and spares a few seconds to look around him and, finally, at the lone peak as indicated by Brock’s pointing finger jutting out from the sparse forest a few miles behind them. 

“It really is. We’re back in Kanto – and really close to Pallet Town too!” Ash heaves out a chest-easing sigh at the familiar scenery around him. Pikachu chuckles something about a gigantic Onix probably showing up to ruin their day, to which Ash, possessing emphatic understanding towards the Pikachu’s meaning, laughs off. “I wonder if anybody else come to train here beside Bruno.” 

_-I do not know of this ‘Bruno’ you speak of, but I as far as I can tell there are no humans around._

No, there is definitely no one around aside from themselves but Arceus has not kept itself inconspicuous in those occasions it chose to closely observe Earthly lives by not being properly paranoid. The awareness of its non-human body sticking out like a sore thumb among them nags with the most annoying persistent that Ash is aurally dismounted off its back with a little more hurriedness than preferable, but the exposedness is eating away at its composure. It needs to transform into a suitable avatar immediately. 

_-Now, you two._ In no way Arceus has risen its voice to a scolding-appropriate height but Brock and Dawn respond with undivided attention like their lives depend on it. Arceus is not otherwise bothered to set them at ease. _-I_ implore _you to keep what you are about to see to yourselves._

They do mutter some sort of confirmation (sounding suspiciously like an indistinct _“Yes, sir!”_ ) but Arceus only partially listens to them, most if its attention now focused on its own body. Arceus tries to concentrate on its morph – _Human? Obviously yes. Male or female? Which one is appropriate here? Clothing? What will be fitting for the short travel to Ash’s home? What will be more easily accepted to his mother, more importantly?_ – but finds that too many thoughts cross its mind at once to latch on to definitively. In the end, as the light of its transformation envelops its form to the astonished gasps of its audience, Arceus merely lets the change to proceed on its own and anchor the process only to the thought of an adult human disguise as a baseline. 

“Y-you can transform…?” Dawn mumbles, closely observing Arceus’ figure from the head to the feet once the transformation is concluded a few seconds later. 

Before it even looks thoroughly at itself, Arceus knows that its disguise turns out to be a woman yet again. The hand raised before its – her – eyes are deceptively slender since the strength that lies in the muscles are not proportionately downscaled to the average of human capabilities but superficially, it looks like any normal human limb, as is the rest of her body. The flank-wheel has taken its customary place in hiding as a pendant hanging off a chest-level necklace. All in all, Arceus has taken a rather normal mode of appearance that should be able to pass off as an everyday human. She gathers the shawl tighter around her neck to better cover her revealing necklace although knowing that the object will not likely to betray her identity. Even if it in the case of it being somehow familiar to someone out there, most people will just assume her hailing from Arche Valley. 

“So… still ‘Alice’ this time, yeah? Just in case we need to come up with a name.” 

With a corner of her eyes, Dawn shoots a questioning glance in Brock’s direction but decides not to comment on it. The man is completely oblivious of it since he is yet to look away from the transformed Arceus. 

“It is a good name as any.” Honestly, her ‘name’ is not as much of a concern to Arceus than her looks right now as long as they are not spouting her true identity in the public. She is very tempted to ask Ash whether her appearance is acceptable if she means to meet his mother in this forme. On the other hand, inquiries like that may indicate lack of confidence no matter how small, which is not something Arceus wants to project right now. 

Ash does not need much incentive to make his thoughts known, as it turns out. “You’re very – pretty. Nice. You look good, I mean. Really good.” 

“Seriously, Ash? Of all the things you could have said, that’s the best you can come up with?” Brock holds up his hand, fingers splayed, ready to count his suggestions off, “At the very least, you could’ve said 'beautiful' –” 

“Never mind that,” Arceus interrupts, either for its own good or Ash’s whose face is getting increasingly coloured. “We need to get Ash to his house quickly.” 

Without further ado, Arceus hooks up hers arms under Ash, one going under his knees while the other supporting his back and neck, pulling him close to her chest for a more secure hold. He is light enough for a regular human to carry him so to the transformed Arceus, his weight is an insignificant burden. However, once his temporary shock is overcome, the stillness is soon replaced by a yelp and nervous wriggling that makes it significantly difficult to go on. By now, his cheeks are as red as his skin can go and Pikachu is making no efforts to stifle his giggling. 

“You can’t – I mean, you’re not seriously carrying me all the way like… _that…?”_

Arceus arches a questioning eyebrow although obediently she sets the Ketchum back to the ground. “I do not think you have enough strength to walk, do you?” 

His expression still shows a measure of unease that she suspects is not wholly caused by his weakened condition. Remembering with a jolt of his reluctance to Arceus’ attention when they were freshly out of Palkia’s portal at the outskirt of Solaceon Town, Arceus presumes that the same idea must be underlying his current discomfort. In front of his friends, Ash does not want to be seen as weak and helpless. Nonsense, really, since Ash has been tackling problems larger than himself to have the disadvantages justified. 

( _But why is there_ lust _in his Aura? It is small but still noticeable – a small patch tinged a darker shade of blue…_ ) 

“I… don’t.” He bites his lips nervously, a sign that he is hard at work putting his thoughts into words. Vaguely he signals at the both of them without particularly pointing which part is causing the problem. “We stand out like that. People are going to talk. My friends, sure, but I’m not ready for others to ask me about you. Especially my neighbours.” 

It is not distaste, Arceus realizes, just an embarrassment that is all too natural for the Trainer in which case she can empathize with his desire for secrecy. With her attention is centred on getting Ash back where he belongs, public opinions do not matter as much – unless, of course, when he specifically voices it out. Around here there may be no people to spy on them but in the vicinity of Pallet Town, Arceus cannot give any guarantee. Unfortunately, that leaves even less options of transport for them. 

Until Brock (a huge, knowing grin plastered on his face) chimes in with a simple solution. “What if we use the Serperior? Like when we’re trying to get to Dawn before?” 

  
  


And so that is exactly what they decide to do – use Brock’s Serperior as a mount which, admittedly, is still eye-catching but not quite ‘strange’, as Ash puts it. On her own, Arceus can move much quicker even with a passenger in her arms, but that will also leave his friends in the dust. It is a small thing to ask in sacrificing a little swiftness for all the added benefits Brock’s alternative can offer. Brock takes the foremost seat in acting as a guide, then Dawn, while Arceus brings up the rear and supports Ash between her and Dawn. Pikachu hangs around Ash and Arceus although for the most part, he happily takes his place in the former’s lap to curl up like he is already home. 

For some reason, Ash still appears rather nervous whenever he allows himself to relax fully against Arceus but she is having none of it. What if he should fall off? Bruises, scratches, even broken bones are mendable but Arceus rather not face it altogether. The thought subconsciously tightens her embrace on the Ketchum who looks like he is ready to complain in one second but decides against it in the next, his face remaining stubbornly, confusingly red. 

All in all, though, the journey is thankfully uneventful. There are a few people they come across but all of them does not give more than double glance once they have reached their personal conclusions on whatever situations which have led Ash into his current situations. Better yet, Ash’s house is situated more towards the outskirt of the town and saving them perhaps a dozen unnecessary encounters, each with an exponential likelihood of making up and spreading even more unnecessary gossips. Brock steers the Serperior as close as possible to Ash’s front door – without leaving collateral damages to the house or the fence, Arceus notices, impressed – before they disembark. Dawn looks quite at home in doing so, needing minimal help from Brock and swiftly smooths out her rumpled skirt as if she has done this everyday while Ash more or less tumble down into Arceus waiting on the ground. 

“Don’t worry, I’m fine,” he says feebly and Pikachu snorts, as convinced of it as Arceus, which is not at all. He may not be subjected to strenuous activities but she can already tell that his body needs more rest than what he has been given. Ash stands up to prove his point which lasts for three steps before his knees start to tremble and the next footfall ends with his collapse. Arceus is there to receive his fall, luckily. 

Their commotion must have alerted the resident because before Dawn can announce themselves with a few knocks on the door, it is thrown open and there, standing in the doorway, is Ash’s mother – Delia, Arceus is quite sure her name is from her past conversations with Ash. 

“Oh my goodness, this’ not something you see every day.” Delia sounds caught between shock, confusion and delight as she takes in the scene before her – at the Serperior, which is in the middle of retrieval into Brock’s Pokéball, at the familiar faces of Ash’s friends and lastly, at her own son and his Pikachu, who hangs on heavily for support on a stranger that is Arceus. 

( _Please look kindly on me…_ ) 

“Hi, Mom. I’m, uh, I’m home.” Ash makes a brave attempt to stand on his own, to which Arceus reluctantly allows for the sake of his mother’s concern. This time, perhaps motivated to present himself more encouragingly to her, he manages to stay upright with minimal support from the doorframe. 

“What happened to you, Ash? You look like you’ve taken a beating!” Of course she is not fooled. It is a well-known fact that mothers everywhere can spot potential troubles to their families from miles away, or when someone is not feeling as good as he tries to portray. Arceus cannot have been more grateful that Ash is no longer sporting visible wound or scarring from his experience, and the bloodied shirt he is wearing shows only very faded trace of the stains. 

“Mom, it’s not as bad as you think.” 

“Maybe, but you’re not looking well either. A bath, a good meal and a bed-rest will set you up right,” she says with surprising authority that makes Ash instantly obeys without making another mollifying attempt on her. When she realizes that the others remain standing outside and secretly fidget with their fingers, she calls out, “Well, don’t be shy! Come in, all of you!” 

Arceus hesitates only for a second before stepping inside after Brock and Dawn, who quickly take for themselves the couch whilst waiting for Delia’s fussing over her son, handing him a towel and a fresh change. With the corner of her eyes, Arceus tries to assess its mate’s condition: still weakened but no longer as alarming as before, where every step seems on the verge of failing. Ash quickly disappears into the shower room, leaving Pikachu and the rest of them to wait for his return. 

Although she is not claustrophobic by nature, the vastly limited space compared to the Palace of Origin and the instinct which knows that her original forme would have demolished the house because of size alone leaves Arceus feeling a little oppressed and is definitely something that needs getting used to. Arceus is much too conscious of her presence in the house before deciding finally to sit beside Dawn. This is not the first time Arceus has been in a human dwelling but the occasions are too few and far between to instil any sense of lasting comfort when being in one. The Maid Café is more bearable simply for its virtue of being less crowded with furniture – and of course, there is Ash to take its mind off things then. The ruins are an exception which have generally fallen into disuse and with no people to judge how it carries itself while being inside. Here, not only is this place Ash’s family house, there is also a lot of furniture that Arceus is innately worried about of knocking over before reminding herself that she is for the moment a human and the couch will take her weight just fine. 

“Are you… okay?” Dawn looks conflicted, as is her Aura. Arceus senses her concern (Arceus must have shown more discomfort than she initially thought, or Dawn is just that perceptive – Vassal of Mesprit and all that) but she is checked by the worry that she may come across as patronizing or intrusive. 

“Yes,” Arceus decides that it will do no harm to confide a little after a brief thinking, “it is just I am not quite used to being in a closed building.” 

Dawn has no solution to offer and so falls silent after a soft, “Oh,” not that Arceus minds it at all. She expects no answer in the first place since whatever she may do – going out to the front yard, walking around or finding a more open space in the house – may send disastrously wrong message to Delia instead. Arceus does not realize when she starts fingering the pendant until she has turned it over and over in her palm, at which point she forcefully releases it and forces her hands to relax with an annoyed huff. 

Meanwhile, Delia is flitting in and out of sight like a Pidgey fluttering from one tree-branch to another, eventually disappearing into the kitchen area. A fragrant smell wafts out from the kitchen soon after: Tea, Arceus assumes because aside from witnessing other people brewing it – the ancient Sinjohians really love their ceremonial tea, for instance – she has had experiences of doing it herself from various leaves, although Arceus is not predisposed to actually drinking it rather than for the benefits of the calming scent it exudes. Her assumption is confirmed when she returns with a potful of tea ( _jasmine, it smells like_ ), a cup for each of them and a neatly sliced fruit cake, all set in a tray which she places on the table before them. 

“I’ve just had the kettle boiled,” Delia says as she pours the tea into each cup, releasing the aromatic scent wafting in the house, “but I’m afraid you all caught me by surprise for dinner.” 

“That’s not needed, Mrs. Ketchum. We just need to get Ash here as soon as possible. We’re sorry we come just like that,” Dawn says sheepishly, distributing the filled cups to the others. 

“Well, now. That’s a story I want to know, for sure. But first,” Delia’s eyes pointedly turn to Arceus and the disguised Legend in her gaze, “I don’t believe we’ve met before, have we?” 

“No, ma’am. My name is – Alice,” Arceus minutely stumbles with the introduction, nearly spluttering out her true identity before catching herself in time. “I am a friend of Ash. We have met in Sinnoh when he first journeyed there as a Pokémon Trainer.” 

Delia contemplates on this for a while, then continuing, “I don’t suppose you’re a Pokémon Trainer too?” 

“I consider myself as more of a caretaker and protector.” Arceus does not want to lie which may have laid a very unstable path for future association, and one by omission does not sit all that well with her either. At the same time, Arceus cannot really stop from potentially frightening her if she reveals that far from just caretaking Magical Creatures, most of its life is spent either in the Palace of Origin or wherever the Beyond may threaten a breach into this reality, with intermittent sojourns to Earth, either for recreation or to aid Earthly Legends or its Dragons whenever there may be threats too large to handle by themselves. 

But that will be quite too much to reveal for now, so Arceus satisfies herself with the given answer. Surreptitiously, Arceus examines the state of her Aura to discern her general reaction – discovering, to her surprise, that wherelse Ash is a curious mixture of fieriness and glacial persistence, Delia’s is purple-coloured and with the calmness of water in a well. 

Delia looks up from the saucer in which she is serving the slice of cake to her guests, her Aura bleeding inquisitiveness at Arceus’ fleeting inspection. “I can see that you’re still a great battler.” 

How and what she sees that indicate Arceus as such, she has no idea. But it is true in a way, Arceus does indeed spend a large portion of the time not used in meditation and observation with battle training in the pocket-space in the Palace, and so she only nods vaguely to Delia’s statement. A small discontent curls in her heart. This will be much easier if Ash has said a word, but that is neither here nor there. Ash does things with impulsiveness that miraculously works to his favours more often than not, but luck is something that Arceus is still waiting to see if there is any in store for herself. 

Spontaneity is more characteristic for Ash; perhaps that will at least signal to the woman currently in front of her that all is more or less natural? 

“Alice, right? It’s nice to finally meet you.” 

“And nice to meet you too.” 

This is formality, something that Arceus can hold on to for a while before she will start treading the unknown beyond this living room, into the time and place Delia was not there and Ash has not yet told her. Delia has spoken with unnerving plainness without having to say explicitly: _We’ll get to know each other better._

( _But of course we will, soon enough. What will you make of me then, I wonder?_ ) 

Human lives. Social etiquette. Normal expectations. Habits, both mundane and interesting at the same time. They are all too disorienting, unhinging Arceus from itself that is the Alpha Legend and forcing it into this suit of a human, a disguise to a measure of acceptability. Arceus is acquainted with most of the basic ones, courtesy of its association with past civilizations, silent vigil of the new ones and the occasional, though secret mingling among the people of the Earth – and of course, its faithful observation of Ash Ketchum ever since the day of their budding friendship that would become much more, a tether with which Arceus picks up the little bits and pieces of what to expect if it means to truly make him its consort. Still, it will be a lie if Arceus refuses to admit how strange it is to live the life of a human. The realization serves to drive home how much Ash has, in fact, abided by the customs of Legend-kind, for Arceus and the isolation which it carries with itself like the wheel on its flank. 

Ash has strived to meet it halfway. Now, it is the time for Arceus to make the journey for him. Ash cannot be alone if Arceus means to have him, he is not one who can keep to himself for days on end. He is part of a larger whole, comprised of people whom he has attracted into the well of his gravity. 

It will be easy if only Arceus knows how to brave the deep waters beyond. 

Fortunately, there exists a small solace in the familiarity that is Ash’s Pikachu, who leaps into its – _her,_ once again – lap, nuzzling her the way he would have done to comfort Ash. Pikachu has grown quite sensitive to Arceus’ moods more than other Magical Creatures, thanks to his Trainer’s numerous meetings with Arceus over the years. Arceus strokes his back with her long, slender fingers, absorbing the sensation of warmth and fur-strands on her skin to bring her back where she can plan her next direction. Pikachu remains a small and mostly silent bundle save for the contented purring, knowing that his presence is enough of a help. 

“It must’ve been a long day for you,” Delia says, looking at the finished cups of tea and the barely-remaining crumbles in the saucers barring Arceus’, who is much too worked up to find it in herself to ingest physical sustenance. Which, unfortunately, will not be helping Arceus’ cause in the least when Delia says, “I should’ve made dinner, you all must be starving!” 

Arceus is honestly surprised at the queasiness that comes with the mental image of forcing herself to eat. It is not the problem of taste – least of all the taste – but Arceus’ body does not view eating as something inherently necessary. The dormant Plates in herself have been faithfully absorbing ambient energy for Arceus’ life-functions, more than enough to keep her alive, the same energy that Arceus has donated to Ash through his sleeping death. Ash has fed her, it, has fed it the fruits of its garden back in its unearthly Palace, and of course there is the glassful of Moomoo Milk at the Maid Cafe, but those are in a different circumstance; they are experiences leisurely ventured and not compelled of it. Arceus tries hard not to revisit the sensation of water rushing down its throat to wash off the taste and scent of blood after bringing Ash to Allearth. Arceus can live its millennial life without experiencing that ever again. 

Arceus internally sighs. Even the smallest thing seems like a huge barrier now. How is it that Ash can make it feel so… in synch with him, regardless of their all-too-obvious differences? 

“There’s no need, Mrs. Ketchum,” Brock is saying quickly to Arceus’ secret relief. “We’ll be leaving shortly. We’re here just to make sure that Ash doesn’t hurt himself trying to get back home.” 

Delia’s eyebrow jumps in a questioning arc. “It’s just like him, isn’t it? Gone off and thrown himself in the deep ends – honestly, he couldn’t even start off his adventuring like a normal people!” 

Something clenches punishingly in Arceus’ stomach, constricting its way up to her throat, but also plants in her a traitorous urge to chuckle at how correct it is. Why can he not be one of those normal people, indeed? Arceus has long stopped asking herself that when the answers do not seem to be any less elusive with time, this one included. 

“I know, I know. I guess I have to ask about it straight from him. And from the way he looks, I guess I’m not about to find out about it today.” Delia sounds surprisingly, impressively calm if a little resigned as if this is a routine she has endured her whole life, which may be exactly the case. 

Arceus understands, there and then, why Ash is her son and she her mother, as fitting as lock-and-key. She, with all her perseverance, patience and quiet determination, simply accepts Ash for who he is. She is there at the end of the day, stalwart and patient and forgiving, ready to receive and heal him no matter what his life has thrown into his path or whatever mistakes he has made, what triumphs he has achieved; trusting in his return no matter how long and how far he has journeyed forth and to remind him that she is always there, unconditionally, for him. She is the essence of home when the world outside these walls are all grand adventures. 

Honestly, Delia is perhaps the most suitable person to receive the kind of news Arceus and Ash has in store. At the very least, Arceus is assured of being listened to when the time comes to tell her. 

There is a thud and a smack, dull but alarming, and Arceus knows instantly that the sounds come from the direction of the bath. There is no complex thought to it than the cause-and-effect: The sounds and the swift search for their origins, Arceus coming to her feet with more grace and quickness allowed of a panicked human. Pikachu’s dashing gives the illusion that Arceus is following his lead when she depends on little more than her senses to reach the shower, the door half-opened and a groaning, already towelled (but thankfully clothed) Ash sprawled half-in and half-out of it. 

She begins, “Ash –” 

“Just slipped, it’s nothing big,” he says through gritted teeth, face contorted in pain-bearing grimace giving less conviction to his attempts at consolation. 

Arceus snorts and kneels beside him, long-fingered hand touching the rapidly swelling ankle. Sprained, if she is not mistaken, but a light one at that. 

“The floor’s wet,” he says as if to justify the accident, reading the accusation in Arceus’ face and averting his eyes altogether from her searching look, knowing that his strength has yet again failed him. The slippery floor just makes his fall costlier with the injured ankle. 

“I’ll get the ice,” Brock offers and disappears to the kitchen, while Dawn offers her supply of bandage which she has made a habit of carry around, as all travelling Trainers do. Ash seems to have given up trying to reassure them and let himself be fussed over – by his mother this time, who is now applying light pressure on his leg to check the affected area. 

“Honestly, Ash. No wonder why your friends are so worried!” Delia says between amused disbelief and worry, but pronouncing that his injury is as determined by Arceus. “You’ll be good in a few days, if nothing goes wrong.” 

“Give me a few hours,” Arceus offers without further thoughts, “and he should be healed, if you let me.” 

Again that curious fluctuation in her Aura, her look shrewdly observant. “Some kind of traditional medicine?” 

“In a way, yes. It is more of a technique than using any specific substance.” 

Arceus will have to depend on Ash’s own Aura while her own will only be used to accelerate the circulation and the pace of the healing process since the injury is light enough for his body to mend it with minimal interference. Directly loading hers into him may actually lead to far direr consequence (Arceus fights her own battle now, suppressing the terrifying vividness of the taste of his blood and the strong rancid scent that comes with it, her nerves only soothed by the conscious and awake Ash who is now before her rather than the unmoving one laid at the bank near the Allearth waterfall). 

Ash, meanwhile, is looking none too pleased. “I’m sensing a disturbing pattern here. Why am I always the one that got hurt?” 

“Isn’t that a wonder,” Arceus mutters, intending it as a jest but coming out with far more bitterness to sound like a simple light-hearted joke. 

“I guess that means you need more rest than you know. Than WE know,” Delia says, the smile reassuring while her eyes twinkle with a knowing gleam. Brock and Dawn return in that moment, mere seconds apart from each other, the promised supplies held tight in their hands. 

“Can you stand?” Brock asks as he presses the bag of ice around the area, which is now visibly swollen. 

Ash gingerly tests his injured foot with the help of Dawn and Arceus, finding it slightly functional if he takes care not to exert his weight fully on it. He takes his steps with a limp and occasional hisses, but mostly he denies needing much support from the others. To Arceus, especially, he says with a face that threaten to blush and eyes which he desperately keeps anchored to her face, “I can walk on my own.” 

Delia, being as stubborn and persistent as her son, pointedly refuses to acknowledge the claim and help him anyway. A good thing too that she does, since the stairs leading to his bedroom do not look very friendly on injured legs. 

  
  


In the end, everything is quite blurred, fast-paced but most importantly, they are neatly settled. 

Brock has helped with the bandaging and the arranging of his leg, so Ash lies in his bed with his sprained foot elevated on a pillow. The packs of ice help to reduce the swelling, he says, and Ash meekly accepts the treatments with less complains than Arceus expects. Delia has left after making sure that Ash is comfortable in his bed, promising to cook something up and bring it upstairs if he happens to be awake still then. Dawn and Brock have gone with her, insisting to help her with the preparations despite her flustered reassurances that it is not needed since she has some leftover left from the Pallet House kitchen restaurant. 

Arceus assumes it is natural to help also, but Delia has made her stay with a firm grip on her shoulder. “You said you have this secret… traditional healing method to try,” she says solemnly, “see if you can do something about that leg.” 

She sounds curiously serious – more serious than Ash’s condition warrants, in her opinion – but Arceus nevertheless agrees, which is how they end up in Ash’s cluttered bedroom, Pikachu curling beside Ash’s pillow and Arceus taking a small space at the edge of the bed while the sounds of clanging utensil and plates echo faintly alongside their voices from the kitchen downstairs. His discomfort aside, Ash appears rather nervous in Arceus’ presence while she strokes his sprained ankle with her hand and her Aura, feeling the tendons and ligaments mend under her influence, never giving too much of herself while never letting his Aura fades into idleness, her focus sharp and unwavering. 

He makes a small “Um,” enough to signal Arceus that her attention is asked for. She readily gives it without a second thought, looking straight into his eyes. 

“I… so, this is my house… and we’re in my room. Not the tidiest and a bit small, but it is what it is.” He gestures around the place – at the scribble-marked desk where his alarm clock stands vigil, at the worn chair and the poster-slapped walls, at the shelves of books whose occupants range from travelling manuals to comic books – as if to say, _it’s mine, so I like it anyway._

Arceus looks around, taking in the casualness exuded from every surface in the place and a sort of charming disarray of items around the bedroom. “So it is. It feels very… ‘you’.” 

“It’s messy, you mean. I know, you don’t have to gloss it over.” He laughs a little at that but the humour quickly degenerates, letting silence fills in the new space. He heaves a breath, shaky and deeply-drawn; exhales with more ease. “I’m sorry you have to come here. It’s not supposed to be like this.” 

“Hardly a surprise there.” 

She pauses to gauge the progress, the swelling now completely gone. It will take less than an hour if his Aura can keep up this steady pace. Arceus divides her attention carefully between the conversation and the threads of healing she weaves about his sprained ankle. It is fortunate that the tendons in question are not so severely affected that this is possible while remaining in her human disguise. Besides, the bandage helps to keep the limb in the right configuration and the soothing ice takes the worst of his pain off the Ketchum. 

“…If you have forgotten, Ash, this almost mirrors the circumstances of your arrival in my dwelling.” 

It is meant to take Ash’s nervousness off his mind, which works to an extent. Some of the tension Arceus has been sensing emanating from the young man drain away, although his Aura is still in a state of disquiet. Arceus wants to say something more, hoping to distract him completely from whatever his is concerned with at the moment, but in the end she opts to let him talk on his own term. 

Which he does, after worrying his bottom lips for a few minutes. “I’m still the damned damsel-in-distress though.” 

“If anything, this is an exception rather than the norm. I can count the number of times you have played hero and I will still not be finished come next week.” 

Pikachu is humming agreement, one eye kept on them while the other contentedly closed, offering himself as the simplest yet clearest proof of Arceus’ statement. Most people do not consider facing a flock of enraged Spearow in the middle of an equally enraged storm an acceptable risk, while for Ash that sits on the tamer scale of his danger spectrum. 

“See? Your Pikachu agrees with me. Regardless of yourself, you have charged into dangers for others’ sakes far too many times.” Arceus continues quietly, “As you have helped me, Ash, let me do this for you.” 

Ash understands that ‘this’ alludes to more than just the triviality of his hurt ankle. They come with their own flaws, a human and a Legendary Creature, but they also have their unique advantages – their union is making whole what is incomplete on its own. Taking care of each other is just one of the many facets of their bond. Arceus identifies with the urge easily; it is the matter of reconciling the same pressing urge from Ash that has been quite astounding – To discover that Ash too, wants to protect and nurture the Legend, and that Arceus should let him. 

“Thanks. For doing all of these.” Ash hesitates, showing his clear regret of not being able to use his language sufficiently to convey what he truly means. Just like Arceus’ plea, his gratitude extends beyond his current predicament, laughable compared to his life history; Arceus too understands his meaning and makes known the fact by leaning forward as far as she can go without breaking contact between his ankle and her fingertips, and presses a quick, chaste kiss to the corner of his lips. 

His Aura is calm, submissive. It gently laps against Arceus’, blue against gold, accepting the flow just as he allows the kiss to happen, as if this is a payment for having dragged Arceus into it in a clear view of the others before. As if there is a cost at all for wanting his enjoyment in Arceus, which is ridiculous. Arceus pulls away reluctantly, her raven hair cascading over her shoulders, the tips just about brushing his chest. Arceus does not realize it before – her hair is shorter than what is normal when adopting a woman guise but the fact quickly falls to the bottom of her priority that she may as well be oblivious to it throughout. There in Ash’s Aura, is again the faint beginning of arousal which does not seem to be entirely rooted in the kiss. So what other things that may be causing it…? 

Ash quickly turns his head away, at which point Arceus realizes what he is trying to hard not to stare. Arceus chuckles at the dawning understanding – the human body is to Arceus what clothing is to human. Some details of it may therefore seems neither too prominent nor significant, but of course Ash will be highly aware of her anatomy than she will be herself, especially when her chest is mere inches from his. 

Then again, Ash has also shown similar reactions when being nearby a male-disguised Arceus upon emerging from Palkia’s pathway. Perhaps Ash is simply conscious of Arceus in general… It is a musing more curious than sensual, fascinated as she is by the many possible things which can evoke his interest – a puzzle which has been of intrigue especially after his specific request to mate Arceus as its feral self. However, it is a musing woefully cut short by the faded sounds of footsteps climbing up the stairs. With a start, she realizes that the myriad cooking noises are gone, leaving only the dampened voices of Brock and Dawn from the kitchen. It must be Delia making her way upstairs then. Arceus knows better than to start their future revelation with her son being almost draped over by a relative stranger whom Arceus is at the moment, and retracts herself to the safer place at the foot of the bed. 

The door is left open ever since Ash is left with Pikachu and Arceus. If Arceus’ hearing is not as sensitive, she would have caught them with Ash and Arceus face-to-face, personal space non-existent altogether, but Arceus has given up neither her keen senses nor her predilection to diligent surveillance, for a while longer avoiding the uncertainties the news will bring. She peeks her head into the room and reveals to them the tray bearing a bowl of steaming porridge, what seems to be fried fish, some poached greeneries and a cake-like confectionery, the last which is arranged in two plates which Arceus assumes to be meant for Ash and Pikachu. She clears the table beside the bed from the alarm clock, the scattered books and his belt, and sets the food down in their place. 

Ash’s frowning at the tray does not seem reasonable, but then he looks at his nearly-healed injury with some criticism. Clearly he is thinking of arguing the necessity of bedside dinner, but another look at the food and the cake Pikachu is picking in his paws by now makes him decide against it. 

“Thanks, mom,” he mumbles faintly and spoons a piece of the cake into his mouth, as if for extra assurance. 

“You’re welcome, dear.” 

Then, as if in afterthought, he mumbles reluctantly, “but seriously, mom. I didn’t break my leg, it’s just sprained. And look – it’s being fixed.” 

The degree of movement is certainly encouraging when he moves the foot for demonstration. Under Arceus’ manipulation, Ash’s body is striving to heal the injury as best as it can, which also explains the exertion that is just now manifesting as his hunger. He sighs awkwardly at the unbecoming complaints from his stomach that come out of the blue, but if he blushes then, the dim lighting and his face being turned down hides it from Arceus’. 

“Hush now. Get that down before it gets cold.” 

Delia nods at the food after a momentary consideration, then at Ash as if she has seen something indiscernible that is otherwise satisfactory to her expectation. She removes the bag of half-melted ice from his leg to examine the leg, and the same approval shows on her face while Arceus is partially lost in her reckoning of how much healing Ash has to go (and deems it remaining only half an hour or so if his Aura is left to work independently). 

“This is amazing, Alice. I don’t know what you did or how you did it, but it doesn’t seem like he’s injured at all!” 

“It is the least I can do.” Compared to Arceus’ retrieval of him from the Dreamworld, this is just a stroll in the park, the only caution needed is in how much guidance can be entrusted without compromising other parts of the Ketchum’s humanness. 

“Well, in any case, he won’t be needing the ice anymore. Why don’t we give him some peace, Alice? Come with me, dinner’s ready downstairs.” 

Truthfully, Arceus does not feel like leaving Ash’s side, a sentiment shared by Ash himself by the way his eyes look back at her in a way that calls to mind of a Teddiursa skilled in the art of Baby-doll Eyes. However, a direct invitation like that does not seem to merit denial for the sake of courteousness, and it may also paint Arceus as unnecessarily clingy should she insist on staying. Of course an imaginary Dialga rears its head in Arceus’ mind to shout folly in following Delia’s directions then – but Dialga never quite bothers itself with human politeness anyway even if it knows the basics of it. 

Ash’s look is worryingly defiant when Arceus rises to join Delia. He opens his mouth – “Mom,” – but he stops himself at the pleading look from Arceus, secretly asking him to be patient for the time being. It will not do to spring to her about their relationship so abruptly and risking detrimental shock on his mother. 

It is bad enough that, what she and Ash have done may as well be a kind of elopement as far as human-based definition goes. 

Arceus can imagine the Dialga in her mind scoffing, _So what? You have no need for her approval._

Arceus does not need it, but Ash does for his peace of mind – and that justifies Arceus’ desire to be accepted by the mother as well. While he is prepared to defend his decision from the way he almost announces it just now, the tension in his shoulders and the severity in his eyes manifesting his readiness, it is Arceus who must play her part first and foremost. Before them is a wilderness of unknowns – and Arceus’ part is to clear the jungle through which Ash will lay down the path for the mother to follow to the conclusion. Ash can assure her that he is fulfilled with his choice all he wants, but Arceus must first ensure that there is no reason for Delia to be averse to Arceus’ inclusion in their family. That Arceus’ bond with Ash should contribute to his happiness, not undo the ones he already has. 

_I do not wish Ash to be estranged from his mother because of me,_ Arceus replies in the confinement of her mind. It is an easy and obvious answer. Dialga will probably snort at that but will be compliant to Arceus’ wish – the one in her mind does exactly that, while in the background, an imaginary Palkia is rumbling its characteristic deep-chested chuckles, its two voices harmonious in its mirth. How curious it is that the lengths Arceus will go for Ash’s sake is a source of Dialga’s frustration while apparently Palkia finds it as a brand of amusement, albeit a peculiar one at that. 

Amusing as it is to keep her imaginations alive, Arceus banishes the thoughts of its Dragon Guardians. A reaction accidentally externalized to her own imaginary figures may be misconstrued by outsiders without the proper context. 

There is also the problem with ‘dinner’ – an innocent and generally welcomed word that for Arceus, settles only marginally better than it did the first time it was mentioned. Already Arceus knows that while she may not retch if she accepts tangible nutrition, it will not be a pleasure at all. Her concern lies in the ways she ought to turn down the offer politely – it is fortunate that dinner in this time and place is not the same lavish, stiflingly formal event thrown by the nobilities and royalties of old, whose purpose is not only to bring together people for socializing but often to parade the organizer’s wealth and influence. Arceus has seen enough of Ash and Delia to assume that in this house, the occasion is supposed to be homely and comforting, perhaps even a friendly gesture. 

While eating may not be very an inviting prospect, Arceus truly looks forward to knowing the mother of such an admirable young man whom Arceus has the honour to call her mate. 

As it turns out, dinner does not seem likely when they arrive downstairs. The food is all cooked, the steams wafting from the pots carrying smell that is no doubt delicious, but there is a palpable sense of hurriedness in here. Dawn – she is readying her travelling bag-pack, sorting through stuffs Arceus cannot see, blocked by her hands and body. Readying herself to leave, and from the look of it, to be as quick as possible about it. 

_Why the sudden rush?_

She looks up from the contents of her bag-pack at the sound of footsteps landing on the base of the stairs, her shuffling hands stilling inside the bag. “Is Ash doing okay?” 

“I don’t know how Alice here did it, but he’s definitely alright,” Delia answers as Arceus is opening her mouth. Dawn’s face makes an interesting change in her expression, something that is a mixture of relief and… disappointment? 

Her Aura tells an incomplete story, tight and wound-up. Restless, wrestling between confusion and passivity. She has that same look in her eyes now when Arceus catches her gaze, the lost look of someone who suddenly finds one’s purpose or belief compromised. There are questions in there – _Why am I here? What is going on?_ – that haunt her mind like a shadow, and Arceus understands it only in parts. The normality is eating at her from the inside when she knows that Arceus is anything but what she is portraying at the moment. It is not difficult to believe that she needs time for herself to re-gather her thoughts into some semblance of order in light of the jarring transition between Xerneas’ fantastical glade and all events entailed therein to this domestic setting. 

She also wants answers to questions that she cannot ask without betraying Arceus’ secrets. They burn within her, in the way her Aura flares at the sight of Arceus, but she shows a commendable amount of willpower to keep her silence. Truly, Arceus concedes, she is a strong and sensible woman in her own right; a worthy partner to Ash without the complexities of being non-human, if only… 

“That’s good to hear.” Her voice is restrained and stiff. Damning words that swirl in her mind are reined in before they spill out unbidden. “… I should be leaving now, Mrs. Ketchum.” 

“You sure don’t want to stay for dinner first? You’ve helped cooked them, you know.” 

Her little smile is distantly wistful and quite frankly saddening to watch. “Thanks, but I’m just. Well. Like we’ve said before. Just making sure he’s alright, I guess.” 

Each halting word is punctuated by an unspoken question of her purpose, searching for an answer to be given to herself as much as to Delia. 

“Oh.” Doubtless Delia means to persuade her but something on Dawn’s face makes her change her mind. “What about you, Brock?” 

“I’ll be off too.” His eyes dart towards Dawn: A reflex rather than a deliberate reaction. His concern for the girl beside him is muted but still very much present, if only one knows what to look for. 

Thoughtful for a moment, finally Delia finds a satisfying conclusion and says, “Tell you what: I’ll pack some of the food for you, if you have a lunchbox or something. You get to eat it whenever you feel like it, that way.” 

The hands Delia present to them insist rather than just suggest. Dawn and Brock surrender their empty lunchboxes and receive them back with much thanks a few minutes later, packed full with the promised food, each item neatly arranged so that they may not spill over with just a bit of jostling. Brock does not seem in as much hurry as Dawn, but clearly he means to follow her so the re-packing goes by swiftly. 

“You have any idea where to stay the night, Dawn? If not, you’re welcomed here.” Delia asks. This time, Dawn has finished with her packing and is already slinging her bag over her shoulder while Brock is zipping his after struggling with the jutting handle of a frying pan (Arceus is quite amazed with how much can be fitted into Brock’s bag without the use of a pocket dimension). 

“There’s plenty of motel between here and Viridian city. I’ll find somewhere, don’t worry.” Her resoluteness is unmistakable. Even though she does not voice it out loud, Arceus is certain that barring emergency, she will rather find somewhere else to sleep for tonight. 

Delia thanks her at the doorway then, first with words and then with a hug, and has Brock and her promise to give a call should they need assistance. Delia’s unwavering persistence in giving a helping hand is very in line with that her son constantly display, further cementing the parallels between them in Arceus’ mind. Despite Dawn’s hurriedness, she appears relieved at the choice offered to her before she, accompanied by Brock beside her, walks away following the path that winds through the town, choosing a general direction towards Viridian City. 

“And what’s your plan, Alice? Will you be going too?” The inquiry is shot as soon as the figures of Ash’s friends disappear from view and the door is shut behind them. 

Arceus is suddenly wary of the attention being imparted to her. Delia eyes her shrewdly; her bearings change, showing more curiousity now and a little cautiousness of her own. Perhaps Arceus should have left with Ash’s friends since she is not as well-known to Delia as the others, but it is not something Arceus is eager to do. Ash’s presence upstairs call to her with more than just a simple indulgence for its mate. The bond between them pulses like a heartbeat, the craving for his nearness amplified by Ash’s prolonged slumber when he was lost in the Dreamworld. 

“I do not know, ma’am,” she replies, the less-than-spectacular answer the best she can do while being truthful. “I wish to be near Ash. But I understand that perhaps I should seek my own shelter and come back tomorrow.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to bother with the ‘ma’am’. Just ‘Delia’ will do.” 

“…Delia, then.” 

“You can sleep here tonight if you want. I suppose it’ll be a long way home for you…” There is a hitch in Delia’s voice, broken by some unknown thoughts which nevertheless causes the periphery of her Aura to shimmer slightly. 

Arceus has sensed it before but no further thoughts seem appropriate to explore. Now, Arceus dares to suspect. Delia is waltzing around the house, collecting plates and cups from the table which had served her guests and put them into the sink, or replaced back on the rack and into the cupboard. Dinner strangely does not seem to hold any priority at all now. It is practicality, in part, but she is also dancing around an invisible matter that tugs at her attention which she is fighting to ignore at the same time. 

“So, where are you from, Alice?” It is an admirable attempt to sound casual; certainly better executed than what her son does whenever he is faced with an awkward situation. 

“A long way from here, as you have said.” Arceus moves with unconcealed fluidity, placing herself between Delia and the sink where the used plates are waiting to be washed, perhaps providing ample opportunity of excuse to remove themselves from each other. Arceus will have none of it, distraction being the last thing of use to either of them at this point. “Are you an Aura user, Delia?” 

Her eyes widen. Their brightness and liveliness are not lost from her son, Arceus can see that now, but hers does not enrapture Arceus the way Ash’s gaze unfailingly does to the Legend. 

“I – no, I don’t have enough in me to be trained that way. But I was born a little more sensitive to it than most people.” 

“Enough to realize that I am not what I appear, I presume.” 

Her breath comes in a sharp inhalation as Delia’s initial shock grows full-fledged. He wariness takes a sharp increase, her stance suddenly rigid although she must have worked to prevent her reactions to show too plainly. Arceus is careful to keep hers as usual and unassuming, thankfully helpful in returning Delia’s calmness when she sees that the revelation is not meant as a hidden threat. 

“You use Aura manipulation to heal Ash. As far as I know, that is a technique only skilled Aura users are capable of. But you feel – _different,”_ Delia ventures cautiously, the last word emphasized in such a way that reveals just how ‘different’ Arceus must have felt to her. To Arceus’ pleasant surprise, she shows more willingness for discussion than Arceus initially gives her credit for, and the knee-jerk avoidance Arceus has been fearing is quickly becoming non-existent. “You – Your name’s not really ‘Alice’, is it?” 

“No more than the titles others used to call me with. However, you shall know me by the name Ash has known: Arceus.” 

_“‘Arceus’…”_ She mumbles the name a few more times under her breath, as though trying to get a feel of it on her tongue; or hoping to jog some long-buried memories into place. “… but that’s supposed to be the name of… a Legend. A saviour. Someone _revered_ by the people of old. I’ve read about it in… – in a library archive somewhere. Even then, it’s supposed to be a folklore or an ancient myth.” 

As soon as she says it, Delia gives an uncomfortable quirk of her lips, halfway between a grimace and an open-mouthed shock. She must have realized how unreasonable the denial must have come off when her Aura sensitivity should have told her otherwise. Though her perception may only be marginally better than the general populace – indeed, Arceus senses that she possesses an Aura that is weaker than a novice trainee of Aura manipulation – a Legend-tier radiance should still be perceivable even though it may be muted by its Earthly disguise. 

Her eyes make a quick jump to the ceiling, where Arceus calculates to be where Ash’s room is located above. “Does he know about this?” 

“He is well aware of who I am,” and speaking of which… “but while it is reasonable to think that he inherits this partly from you, I have never been given the impression that he knows of your Aura sensitivity.” 

“Because he _doesn’t_ know. It’s not important.” Somehow she seems unseated by this confession. She reaches for the chair and pulls it out for her to sit in. Arceus makes no move to follow suit, being more comfortable on her feet and moving only to make sure that she remains in front of Delia, who is even now looking at the Legend-lady again with the same hidden astuteness. 

“What… what else did he talk about with you?” Without saying it, Delia manages to send her meaning across that she means specifically subjects concerning the Ketchum family. 

“Not much, admittedly, but enough that I have no doubt how much his family means to him… even the ones who have been apart from him.” 

This time, Delia looks resigned more than anything as if she has expected some such answer from Arceus. However, still she refuses to explain further what is playing in her mind; instead focusing herself on the woman-who-is-not in front of her. 

“You must be very close to Ash. He usually doesn’t talk much about… well.” 

“Apologies, I do not mean to broach into your family matters.” 

Ash seldom talks about his family, and when he does, it is usually about Delia herself and his childhood. The latter mostly when he narrates to Arceus how he meets this person or that (Gary and Serena are frequent subjects). His father rarely comes into the picture; the few times he does, it is only in a nostalgic manner, or Ash’s personal imagination concerning his appearance or their future meeting, if it ever comes to that. At the same time, while he makes known how he wishes for it to happen, he is also resigned to the possibility that it may never come to pass. There are times when Arceus feels like stopping his talks, if only because it does not feel entitled to listen to such an intimate subject, but curiousity is always a powerful driving force for Arceus. 

“No, no, no – I’m glad that he has you to talk with. I’m sure he’s comfortable enough with you that he’s telling you about it.” 

“…I am honoured, Delia. I truly am. I, too, find myself trusting of him. When we first met, he has saved me from a very… unpleasant fate. Now –” 

_Now, he is my beloved. My mate._

Arceus stumbles at that. This should not be a be a secret to his mother, but the fact that it is, the burden of silence becomes heavier the longer it is left unsaid and becomes more difficult to explain by the second. However, this is not something solely Arceus’ to reveal no matter how dearly she hopes to say it right there and then. Even if Delia possesses enough open-mindedness to accept it, as Arceus is quite certain she can be persuaded to it given enough time and patience, Arceus begins to regret preventing Ash from saying it outright when they have the chance in his room a while ago. In the end, this is something Ash is equally involved in that to exclude him from this vital development – concerning his mother, no less – will be needlessly thoughtless of Arceus. 

Again Delia eyes the part of the ceiling whose other side must be the floor of Ash’s room following Arceus’ sudden pause, questioning but far from being antagonistic to whatever speculation she has chosen to brood upon. 

“Will you tell me more about yourself… Arceus?” For someone only just hinted of Arceus’ nature, Delia is amazingly quick to the uptake and she seems disposed to make assumptions most people would have counted as outrageous. 

“I think it is better if Ash is here with us. It will do more justice than just having me to tell you.” 

Until now, Arceus has tarried for too long. If there is ever the right time to be done with it, this is as good as it gets.


	27. Home Is Where The Heart Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Together, they have struggled and braved difficulties.
> 
> Now, there remains one final hurdle - Acceptance from the most important person in Ash's life: His mother.

As delicious as dinner is, and as hungry as he is, Ash finds that his appetite is not as thriving as it ought to be. He manages to make himself eat a spoonful or two of rice; the rest he gives to Pikachu who seems to have lost a little weight since their confrontation with the ghost. The realization that he is in part responsible for it further diminishes his already meagre desire to eat, knowing that it must have been Pikachu’s worry of his fate that has driven him into this state. Although a Trainer-partnered Pokémon, Pikachu retains his wild instincts and survival skills that living in the wilderness without his human Trainer should not be a problem. Pikachu stares at him for confirmation first before he is comfortable to accept the food, which he hungrily digs in after cleaning the last morsel of the cake that is meant for him. 

Unsurprisingly, Ash is also willing to attribute his lack of appetite to his thought of Arceus. 

Ash can easily devise a dozen scenario which may have gone down below, ranging from mundane to catastrophic, depending on what kind of mind-set he has at the moment. He realizes that more than half of those are improbable, but the urge to action is not something that can be easily quelled with logic. Restless, Ash feels as though his own bed is becoming a little too stiff on his back – and why exactly he is in bed, at all? He eyes his supposedly injured foot with something of a disbelief and annoyance, the swelling almost impossible to make out by now. The pain is gone as well, leaving only a vague numbness like a residual of anaesthesia in that limb. A little uncomfortable but certainly will not be enough to hinder him from moving if he truly means it. 

And no, he is _not_ a cripple. What is even wrong with him? 

Perhaps Ash is becoming soft with himself. He is not bed-ridden, not with these petty injuries. He can fight a little tiredness, surely. When Ash decides that he is going to rise out of the bed anyway, Pikachu knows his Trainer too well to stop him from trying. Thankfully, the efforts involved is not as strenuous as expected, given how the others have worried about him, and his ginger steps become more confident when the pain from his sprains do not return, not at a hindering intensity, at least. Pikachu walks beside him, his expression and body languages alert. Ash has no doubt that both his mother and Arceus will come dashing at the first squeak they hear from Pikachu. It is a comforting thought, but Ash much prefers that there will be no need of it at all. The nervous thumping from his heart accompanies his every step down the stairs. For whatever reasons that he himself cannot recognize, Ash is walking with enforced carefulness as if his presence should not be noticed. 

“Will you tell me more about yourself… Arceus?” 

Delia’s voice floats in the silence when Ash makes it to the last step, prompting his freezing. Somehow, his mother knows – or Arceus actually discloses about itself to her, although on what reasons Arceus relents to do so after the guardedness she has displayed in his bedroom is intriguing. He stands unmoving in the half-shadows behind the wall separating him and the kitchen where he thinks where his mother’s voice is coming from. 

As expected, next comes Arceus’ reply, still in that soft, feminine voice that comes with her disguise. “I think it is better if Ash is here with us. It will do more justice than just having me to tell you.” 

Oh, Ash knows what kind of Arceus is in front of Delia right now. The outwardly docile kind, the one who looks like it will follow an order or grant a request without question, yet when one looks into the eyes or observe a little more closely on the face, it can be seen that there is purpose that Arceus is striving for. A waiting game, of which Arceus has mastered and played countless of times before, though for Ash it first manifested in a circumstances he would not want repeating for any reason – it was during Sheena’s presentation of the then-unknown fake Jewel of Life to the enraged Legend. Arceus’ revelation of the Jewel’s nature had taken them all by surprise, and it was until shock and fear had rendered them vulnerable did Arceus commenced with the strikes. If not for the other Legendary Pokémon’s timely rescue, Ash has no doubt that all that would be left of them were charred skeletons. This wait-and-strike stratagem extended well into its fights with the Dialga, Palkia and Giratina, Arceus more often than not hovering as though disoriented but when the attack was executed its evasion was near flawless. 

For a flash of a moment, Ash has the crazy idea to run back to his room and pretends that he never leaves it in the first place, but it is gone so quickly he does not realize it being thought at all. Besides, Pikachu is already making half of the decision and pads straight towards the source of their voices. 

“Huh,” he looks on at the Pokémon’s departure and swaying tail, feeling a bit ridiculous himself that he is still standing there without doing anything. “Why the hell not?” 

When the light overhead falls on his face as he steps out from behind the wall, he can tell that his mother and Arceus are both surprised by his appearance, although it is still a little strange that Arceus does not realize him being there from his Aura. Maybe Arceus is too caught up in the moment, or thinking that Ash will be a good boy and stay in bed until they are finished here. 

Too bad – while Arceus may be the master of waiting, Ash is all about going with the flow. 

“It’s okay, mom. I’m good,” he says quickly, realizing that Delia’s expression becomes doubtful when she looks at his foot. 

In a couple more strides, he is standing in front of her and Arceus, both of them clearly wondering what brings him out of the bed. Pikachu, faithful and supportive as ever, claims his position on Ash’s shoulder as if to help him convey an appearance of normalcy to his audience as well as being a comforting weight for his Trainer. Arceus is particularly concerned-looking; Ash doubts that it is because of his foot, which Arceus should have known better when she has helped in its healing. So shortly after his escape from the Dreamworld, Arceus may instead be worried about his overall well-being but the green eyes narrowing upon his face tell him that the Legend-lady is more suspicious of what exactly he has in mind. 

“So, uh, here we are. I guess Arceus has told you about herself, right?” 

“Not everything,” Delia replies with a surprising shrewdness about her as she peers at the Pokémon-in-disguise, “but it’s a good thing you’re here now. You have some explaining to do, _young man.”_

From the corner of his eyes, Ash can see the set on Arceus’ face telling of her resolve to have it done with. Ash manages something of a nod towards Arceus, a mixture of assurance and a request to let himself finish. This should be his initiative, but before he knows it a wayward nervousness is creeping in uninvited. Perhaps Arceus’ anxiety for acceptance is infecting him, but that should be his job to not let himself be similarly affected – that he should be the confident one here for Arceus’ sake. Ash wonders if there is such a thing as casual sweat-dabbing, since he can feel them trickling down from his scalp to his forehead which he longs to wipe away without appearing guilty or doubtful. He pulls for himself a chair, the growing shakiness in his legs having nothing to do with his now-healed sprains, but ultimately no sitting happens for the Ketchum boy. However, Pikachu does make standing easier by hopping off him, instead taking to sitting on his haunches at his feet. 

“Really, Ash,” Delia huffs with a mysterious quirk at a corner of her mouth, “is it so hard to tell me that you’re dating this – Arceus, right?” 

The wobbliness in his legs is absolutely ridiculous. Those are supposed to be flesh-and-bone, not Jell-O. “…Mom? How do you – Did Arceus –” 

“I’m your _mother,_ Ash.” She says it like it is there is not much explaining to do – which, in a way, there indeed does not leave much else. She crosses her arms under her breasts, every inch of her radiating motherly sternness. “I was a teenager too, once. I know the look of someone falling head over heels – and you couldn’t take your eyes from her more than a minute. Don’t think I didn’t realize those goo-goo eyes you made when you look at her?” 

It feels like all veins and arteries in his body devote his blood to circulation on his face. If he is being obvious, what about Arceus? Ash tries to raise an objection, but Delia is already grabbing a rant by herself and is running wild with it. 

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, Ash. All these times, I thought… and now, here we are, bringing home a girlfriend out of nowhere!” 

Ash pointedly refuses to look at Arceus, unable to trust his own resolve not to be affected by the Legend-lady’s emotions. Hell, he is too uncomfortable himself to correct Delia’s assumption, that as far as Legendary customs go, they have passed the courting – something equivalent of a date to the Legends – and are already married. Better work with what they already have… Bringing himself down to his knees in front of Delia, he makes a small cough to test the steadiness of his voice, finds it adequate, and says, “I-I’m sorry, mom. Yes, I’ve been together with Arceus. I didn’t mean to keep you in the dark. It’s just… I just don’t know how to go about telling you this.” 

To his immense relief, Delia seems neither accusing or discontent. The smile she gives him is no different than the ones she has always given him before. “It’s never too late to try, Ash. Don’t worry – I’m always listening.” 

Still, Ash still has to work up the nerves to get his voice out without the squeaks. “She’s not, um, she’s not really _human._ Arceus – Arceus is a Legend. Uh, that is, a Legendary… _Pokémon.”_

She may have made a quick glance at Arceus, but it is too quick for Ash to say for sure. “Yes, she… told me about that before you showed up. In a way.” 

_In a way?_

It is a strange choice of words. Then again, Ash is much more interested in her general reaction than particular semantics. Speaking of whom, Delia seems like she has just been told that the sun rises in the East and sets in the West, rather than being confronted that his choice of a life-partner ends up with a Legendary Pokémon for her in-law. 

“Y-you’re okay with this? I mean, Arceus isn’t a human.” 

“And she is, in fact, a Pokémon. I did listen, Ash.” 

Her grin appears playful, but a longer look at it reveals the mirth being only a ruse. She casts her head down as if sensing that her expression no longer suffices to hide her thoughts, looking at her fingers covered by Ash’s hands. Her eyes have a glazed look to them which indicates deep thoughtfulness, so it is with his chest feeling like it is going to crack under the heavy beating of his heart that the Ketchum boy waits for Delia to speak up what she is thinking. 

“I was expecting this, you know. Not about you’re bringing home a ‘mon girlfriend – that’s another subject – but boys your age… It wasn’t that hard to guess.” She does not lose the contemplative look from her face. If anything, it gets more intense. Ash can almost imagine being able to glimpse the thoughts passing in her mind from the twinkles in her eyes. 

Ash bites the inside of his cheeks sub-consciously; realizing it only when it aches after the mindless chewing. Delia is expecting what is coming but it does not mean she has come to terms with it. He wants to say something, but a gut feeling says that he should wait a little longer. There will be his turns to talk, but for now his job is to listen. 

“It’s no use beating around the bushes here. I don’t pretend that this is exactly what I have in mind. Now that you’re coming clean with it, I don’t know what I should do.” Though her voice is numbingly neutral, Ash takes a small comfort in her accepting his hands on hers. “I only want the best for you, Ash, and a Pokémon is not an easy choice…” 

A small noise of distress betrays Arceus’ apparent composure, fleeting but unmistakable. Surprising too – it is a sound that is both soft and yet underlain with a protective growl unbecoming of a woman of her appearance. Ash does not see her face, but he can guess the dismay that she is feeling. Can _feel_ it as well, in fact, through their bond that he does not understand all that well himself, a distant feeling that may have passed as his own if he only gives it a cursory look. If not for this, Ash would have doubted his ears since the whimper-like noise is carefully managed, it may have easily been a deeper and sharper draw of breath. Arceus’ efforts are starting to unravel, but there is nothing for it now than follow through the course to the end. 

Delia continues as if unaware of Arceus’ incidental interruption. “I wouldn’t know if it’s just a three-week phase or a six-month phase or a permanent thing. A relationship like this is not something you can get on and get off like breaking a habit. It is a responsibility with no easy way out. It becomes part of you. At one point or another, it may as well be a burden. Unless you’re ready to face all that, and know that it’s not always be beds-and-roses you’ll be rolling in, you better think this through now before it’s too late.” 

_It’s already too late,_ a voice in the back of his mind mutters, sullen and far wiser than his years. Wiser than he will ever be, perhaps. Instinctively, his tongue wants to adopt the words as its own, saying it aloud, making a counter to Delia’s warning – yes, _warning,_ the best description of what she just gave him – but the unbecoming tone of argument makes him rein it back. What he needs is a calm-minded persuasion. 

In Arceus’ hesitation to speak her mind, Ash jumps in at the opportunity and says, “I… I know that it’s not going to be easy. There’s so much left ahead of us together, but I’m going to take the chance, mom. When Arceus said it wants me, I didn’t know how to feel about that – I used to think that, when I meet someone special you talked about before, somehow I’ll know about it straight away. It didn’t feel that way with Arceus at first, but the longer I think about it, the surer I become.” 

When he climbed the stairs to Arceus’ shrine, the answer already settling in his mind despite his trepidation, Ash has made for himself a vow. A simple one, the best he can give for being the mortal man he is. He is repeating it now in front of his mother, hoping it sounds as convincing as it does to him then, “I know now: I _want_ this because if I give up now, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life because I know I’ve missed something precious. No matter what it takes, I’ll make sure it’ll work between us.” 

To his surprise, he feels his mother’s hand ruffling his hair into absolute messiness, although the state of his hair does not concern him as much as the fact of the gesture. Delia has stopped doing it after Gary once laughed at him for being a ‘mother’s baby-boy’, which had earned him a stern telling-off when Ash became quiet after that. 

Somehow, the habit faded off until he does not remember it in the first place, until now. 

“I know you will. That’s always the right attitude to have, no matter who you decide to be with. That look in your eyes too – I’ve seen that too many times, and your father used to have that look too.” 

What is he supposed to reply to _that?_

Ash swallows nervously. He cannot quite tell what his mother’s stance on this. There is a breath of relief waiting to be left out, but he dares not just yet. On one hand, she has not reacted with outright horror (or disgust), which he reflexively defaulted to whenever he pictured himself revealing his unusual relationship to anyone. On the other hand, while there may not be strict objection, Delia is apprehensive – which is admittedly much more confusing to deal with. Perhaps it is her natural motherly instinct which can find something to be worried about at the simplest of things, let alone with finding out that his chosen life partner is a Legendary Pokémon. 

Also: Being made a parallel to his father. He knows so little of him that he does not know if that is a compliment or caution. 

“Sweetheart,” Delia says fondly, the shake of her head being of amusement, “Just know this: I want you to be happy, always. You’re a young man now. You live your own life. And it looks like you’re finding a wife for yourself just fine – although, not a very conventional one at that…” 

_Wife. And husband._

He has enough presence of mind to be mildly amused that Delia skips right off with a girlfriend and goes straight to having a wife. And yet, that is still not the main source of the oddness of being described like that. It takes Arceus’ comments to clarify why is it so. 

“I am too inconsistent in taking a human form to be considered a ‘wife’, or even a ‘husband’, for that matter,” Arceus is saying – a declaration almost, the words _husband_ and _wife_ uttered with an emphasis as though it may have felt strange saying them – but in a quieter voice she adds with a touch of resignation, “although, if it is more convenient for you, feel free to consider me as you prefer.” 

Amazed, Ash continues to stare but her face betrays no particular emotion than a sort of patient stoicism. For itself, Arceus has never made clear, even when Ash asked how on Earth it was going to work between a man and a Pokémon when he was first proposed by the Legend: The answer is only that there would be ‘ways’ to cater to their differences. Perhaps it is simply a product of familiarity that ‘it’ does not sound degrading or objectifying, only right. Genders are never much of a thing with Legendary Pokémon anyway, pronouns being a matter of what feels fitting with individual preferences or appearances. 

For Arceus to label herself as such, perhaps the wants for acceptance is powerful enough to override the complexities of labels. 

“Is that really?” Delia purses her lips, her eyebrows arching critically now while she takes stock of the Legend-lady top-to-toe. “By that, I’ll take it that this is not how you introduce yourself to Ash.” 

Now it is Arceus’ turn to be wary, more than she already is. “No. I rarely have needs to take on a disguise when I am with him.” 

“Then we haven’t met proper. Not yet.” Delia gestures towards Arceus in general with a tilt of her head. She needs not say the rest to have her meaning guessed, and Arceus is sufficiently intuitive of hidden meaning to pause at her request. 

Finally, Arceus looks for Ash. A strange shiver crawls up his spine – his permission is asked for, or, since he is not inclined to esteem himself that highly, at least his opinion. Brock and Dawn have known Arceus for the Pokémon it is first before the revelation of its transforming ability, perhaps contributing to their relative easiness in acceptance. He trusts his mother to make fair judgement, but it is really hard not to feel nervous about it anyway. He still owes this to Delia at the very least, since he is not being a very good son in keeping the knowledge of his spouse from her all these while, albeit incidentally. He releases his grasp on Delia’s hands and rises up to take Arceus’ instead. Warm and yielding, the limb does not feel the slightest bit different from the next human until she squeezes back to answer for his assurance – with pressure too firm for the fingers’ slight efforts. 

Ash nods, not as much approval to the course of action as to signal his preparedness, and Arceus’ set face echoes the sentiment. 

“Morphing back will be impractical, given our current circumstances,” she decides after a sweeping glance around the house (the windows, though closed and the curtains drawn, are given a particularly sceptical glare), “we will have to make do with the alternative.” 

Forgotten in the turmoil of the moment, Pikachu again makes apparent his being there with a chirp of alarm. He must have known what is intended by the Legend-lady, and remembering the shock of discovering the sudden blackness consuming Ash’s living-room while Dialga revealed itself from the guise identity as Darius, Pikachu presses himself close against the Ketchum’s calf as though to seek protection in the Trainer. 

Eyeing Pikachu’s palpable discomfort, Delia’s eyebrow rises with inquiry. “Is there something I should be concerned about?” 

“It is only a mass illusion,” Arceus quickly replies, sparing a few seconds to favour a questioning look at Pikachu’s restlessness, then proceeds to do as she has (not so succinctly) warned. 

To Ash, ‘mass illusion’ is a poor choice of words to encompass the act of turning the interior of the house into a blank space that stretches unending in all perceivable directions. Delia earns herself a hundred favourable points for managing to compose herself as the house disappears right before their eyes, appearing as though something has corroded away the walls and roofs and creating the impression as though the house actually floats through a space far more empty than the dead space. There are surprised gasps, seconds of panicked looking-around and unvoiced inquiries, before realizing that Ash and Pikachu are still with her. Mostly because Ash has reacted fast enough to catch her hands and reassure just that before her fright grows too severe to be soothed. 

“A little more details next time will be MUCH appreciated, thank you,” she manages at last, voice unsteady despite the dry wording. 

_-Much apologies,_ Arceus’ voice is saying before the owner materializes in front of them, pushing away the darkness with the coming of light that accompanies the forming of its body, _-A hindsight on my part; it is a quite forgettable to us that humans are not used to it._

Appropriate for the androgynous, ethereal voice which has replaced the mostly feminine tone possessed by its womanly disguise, Arceus is now a tall form of a beast, the extension on its head waving in an invisible and unfelt current; the golden wheel provides the most in terms of illumination, though the rest of it still glows faintly as if some sort of internal fire is permeating out through its hide. For the second time in less than a minute, Delia is struck by the mixture of awe and fear that she needs Ash’s hands on her arms to remind her that she is not without a human company. For a few moments, between them there are only silence and the strange darkness that somehow still allows near-perfect vision of each other; Ash waits with bated breaths while his mother has exactly the opposite reactions. Her eyes are taking in the massive entirety of Arceus; at the exquisitely glowing ring, at the quadruped stance on the hoof-ends that by right will not be able to support the body, at the face expressionless to untrained eyes… 

Even in the uncertain moments like these, Ash finds himself mesmerized at the sight of the Alpha Pokémon. With an open mind – _really_ open mind – that time and familiarity has allowed of himself between Arceus’ first visit and its ultimate proposal, Ash has learnt to not only be comfortable with it, but also to see the beauty in its decidedly non-humanoid body. Arceus’ friendliness certainly helps the cause. 

“My goodness, Ash… You’re not doing _anything_ halfway, I give you that.” Gently she pries Ash’s fingers from her arm, taking steps after hesitant steps towards the unmoving Arceus. With a start, Ash too opens strides, trailing a little behind his mother who all the while has been muttering not so secretly, “A Gardevoir, maybe, or a Gothitelle. I might not be so surprised with a Hitmonlee or a Sawk. But no, it’s either go big or go home, isn’t it?” 

Ash blushes furiously. More likely than not is that being Delia’s monologue rather than a heartfelt rant, but there is no denying the sentiment behind it. The difference being only that he does not _deliberately_ search for Legendary Pokémon specifically to woo (or be wooed at, as it happens). In any case, pointing this out will be useless as Delia still end up with a possible Legendary Pokémon as an in-law. 

_-Ma’am,_ Arceus says, holding its head low in a gesture of a respectful bow when she stops mere few feet in front of the Pokémon. 

“So, you’re the one who made my son fall in love – finally?” 

_-Perhaps the other way round is more appropriate._

“That’s all good and proper,” Delia says but Ash he can still hear the interrogative edge about it, “so you’re really serious about Ash?” 

Oh well, there she goes. Ash fights not to make any embarrassed noise, which he succeeds, but his reddening face is still significantly telling of how he feels. Leave it to Delia to actually interview a Legendary Pokémon about its love life – Ash does not think that even the Dragon Trio have half as much nerves as she is showing. 

The quickness in Arceus’ reply suggests that it has seen this coming from a mile away: _-I absolutely am._

“What about Ash?” The question strikes true. Arceus flinches, its glow waning minutely. Delia, however, is relentless. “I know my own son. He doesn’t do things with a half heart, so he’s already made his mind about you. But how can _I_ be sure that you’ll do right by him?” 

Ash feels numbed head-to-toe. The scenario is surreal enough that it may have been funny in any other circumstances, but right now he is torn between being shocked, scandalized, horrified and a number of emotions he is not sure what exactly, let alone what to do with. It seems that Arceus too is helpless in the face of this question, but its silence turns out only temporary. What he first perceives as cluelessness is in fact Arceus’ caution in continuing with the right tact. 

It begins speaking after a heavy sigh that seems to Ash to echo hollowly in the featureless space and make him wants to hug it so badly, to give what little comfort he may. 

_-I am all too aware that I am not Ash’s only suitors, far from it. I am also afraid – constantly – that ultimately, my presence does not do him any kindness. This is a fault I admit freely, that I am too weak to deny my own heart, though for a while I have tried to remain only as a friend to him. When I asked for his hand, I had hoped for his rejection to push me away – a last resort, cowardly and pathetic. Painful as it would be though, it would give me an impenetrable reason to stay away._

This time, Ash is reduced further to gawping foolishly at the Alpha Pokémon. He has known it to be having minimal hope of their becoming together at first, but to hear the confession that Arceus was counting on an all-out rejection does not sit well with him. They will be going to have a long, real talk after this… 

Arceus continues after a hitch, as though the notion is as disturbing as it is to Ash, and is taking the courage to swallow its distaste, _-And yet, he defied expectation. Instead of sending me away disgusted, he was willing to take me into consideration. I could handle rejection… but giving me hope made the want ached all the worse. I could not resign then. He made me want to fight against the odds, which loomed before me bigger than ever._

“I think it’s safe to say that you’re over that phase,” Delia adds with a knowing look thrown in Ash’s direction, who is still reeling from the shock of Arceus’ narrative. 

_-Not completely. Even after his acceptance of me, I will always be on guard – not because I distrust his fidelity, but because I know I am hardly the most fitting choice of a mate for a human. Now that he does accept me, I will not see myself worth keeping only for the brief thrill of youthful romance. I may not be the best he could have but I WILL treat him to the best of my capability and love him for the rest of his life, and beyond._

It is disorienting. The words are humble; the tone is something else. Not arrogance, but something that thrums with will that has helped civilizations rise and toppled centuries-old kingdoms like a child’s play. A harsh awareness of one’s own capabilities, and all the resolve to tame the ruthlessness of it. He can see as well the lingering disappointment underneath all that. As though the words it speaks to Delia is both for her assurance and a vow to itself to atone for its ‘mistake’. If Ash has to guess, him being lost in the Dream World is not something Arceus will be able to forgive itself so easily. 

“Well then,” Delia says finally, following a silence Ash does not really realize since he is himself concerned with Arceus’ emotions, “that’s quite a promise you’re going to keep. But I think that won’t to be too much of a problem, seeing that you'll have Ash’s lifetime to prove it…” 

She extends her hand out, which Arceus takes as a friendly gesture and pushes its gold-covered forehead into her palm briefly. When she pulls back her hand, Ash can see the worried lines previously on her face are gone, and that she is smiling widely for the first time since Arceus makes its real self known to her. His breaths become much easier at this small revelation. All these time, Ash feels as if he is an ineffectual observer, but just witnessing for himself the tension easing from around them makes it worth it. 

“To be honest, I’m surprised you’re taking the troubles to have this little chat between us. You’re – well, you’re something else, you know that?” 

_-Ash keeps his family and friends close to his heart. It is only natural for me to value everything he does like my own. This is hardly a trouble, ma’am – It is a pleasure to know those he cares about._

Chuckling good-naturedly, she turns towards Ash out of the blue and gestures towards the Legendary Pokémon, who is now back to standing at its full height. “You’ve got yourself someone who knows its way with words. Good job.” 

If only Ash can make himself invisible right there and then! 

As it is though, Ash can only mumble awkwardly about Arceus’ eloquence not really being the decisive factor for his attraction to the Alpha Legend, which he is sure not going through Delia’s ears at all. He has no idea what is expected of him or what is the appropriate thing to do right now, though fortunately Pikachu gives him some helpful clue by nudging the back of his legs towards Arceus, who is itself looking as though mulling over the same puzzles as Ash does. The difference between them is that while he is still more or less confused, Arceus makes its decision and strides over towards him, pausing only to judge whether its advance is allowed by the mother before proceeding the rest of the way when she makes no signs of protest. 

“Arceus –” The rest of his sentence, if he actually does able to think of anything to say, is lost when the Pokémon nuzzles him with a heavy, relieved sigh. It washes over him warmly and surrounds his body like a loving embrace from intangible arms. 

_-I give you my word to stay by your side, as long as you will have me. Your mother will bear witness to this vow._

Arceus is _definitely_ still traumatized by the unfortunate accident in the ruins and the events leading to his coma (to put it lightly). As if every step of the way towards home is eating its inside with the fear that after all has been said and done, the Legend is still at risk of being pushed away. He badly wants to kiss it, but that will be probably be outrageous on so many levels with Delia still around. Instead, he settles with simple massages on its grey face and wonders how it is that he is apparently someone Arceus sees fit to give its loyalty to. 

His heart swells with fondness at the thought. Xerneas is right – They really are not that different in wanting the best for each other. Isn’t that how some of the best relationships work out? 

A little conspicuously deliberate cough breaks him out of the trance-like peace as he works his fingers through the soft fur at Arceus’ throat, followed by Delia’s amused interruption, “If it’s not too much for you guys, do you mind if we get out of here? I’m starting to miss seeing solid ground under my feet.” 

Needless to say, Ash is not going to get his reddening face back to normal in the next hour, even as Arceus breaks away from him and affirms that, yes, it is perfectly possible to comply with Delia’s suggestion.


	28. Forever And A Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their adventure, Ash and Arceus are eager to start the new phase in their shared life.

For being only a fraction of its size, Arceus secretly muses, the Lake Guardians are certainly lacking not a whit less in attitudes than those possessed by the Creation Dragons. Since they are influenced in one way or another by Arceus, this is of no surprise but Uxie, Mesprit and Azelf are particularly adamant recently, especially when it concerns Arceus and its romance. 

Which as it happens, is exactly the case why the trio are jostling to speak in Arceus’ mind even though the Alpha much more prefers to meditate at the moment. 

_-Leaving,_ Azelf is saying with some sort of horrified disbelief, _-when everything is so recent? How does the Young Master fare, alone on Earth?_

_-He is NOT alone,_ Arceus replies for the umpteenth times and resigning to the fate that the Lake Guardians are going to ignore this argument just like before. _-He has his mother too, and his companion Creatures._

_-He must be missing you dearly,_ Mesprit chirps mournfully. Its brethren’s agreement flows into Arceus like melted ice off mountain in the spring-time stream. 

_-Dialga, Palkia and Giratina together should be enough to cover the damages in the fabric of reality,_ Uxie adds, a piece of insight that is not lost on Arceus but of which it decides to let pass in favour of joining forces with the aforementioned Dragon Trio. There is something distantly uncomfortable in letting them mend the destructive trails left by the Cyrus-Shadow Hoopa ghost as though Arceus is neglecting its responsibility. 

The problem is, Arceus is itself not quite mended after its exhaustion in sharing its life-force while it sought the Ketchum in the twilight realms. Pushing its strengths afterwards to make the patrols and pouring what remains of its vitality into repairing the disturbances predictably take their tolls on anyone, even the Lord Protector itself. 

_-My Guardians, rest assured that I will rest here only for so long until I can present myself to him accordingly._

_-That is a peculiar notion, Master. If healing is what you intend, Ash’s Aura is the kind which invigorates, isn’t it? Being in his proximity should work better than you being here alone._

No, they are definitely not going to relent in this matter. The Lake Guardians have inexplicably taken personal interest in itself and Ash to the point it feels like the Ketchum is pair-bonded to four Legends instead of only to Arceus. It is of no surprise though, since being the Guardians of the Spirit they are in tune to the matter of the heart, of which a large portion of Arceus’ is now invested in Ash. Truth to be told, Arceus is itself close to bolting to Earth this very moment. The constant urging from the Lake Guardians reminds Arceus too much of how it has left Ash in the first place that ultimately led to his meeting with the malevolent ghost. 

_-That as may be, Mesprit, but I do not want to burden him. He has lost so much of it already; I should be the least person to take advantage of it._

Just the mere thought leaves an uncomfortable taste in Arceus. Because of the very nature of Ash’s Aura, he is doubly more attractive to the ghost than just being a Lake Guardian’s Vassal. It is not a new insight to it that Ash is considerably accommodating of Auras in general, hence part of why he seems to attract supernatural forces from time to time; even Arceus finds it alluring to simply bask in his warmth, the longing which it is experiencing even now and which feels profoundly disturbing. 

_-Master… do not ever think like that. You’re not the same as the Wielder of the Red Chains, who reaped from the Young Master selfishly. It is not a crime in wanting your life-partner; it is only natural._

Something flutters like the flaps of butterflies’ wings, though ones which apparently reside deep in Arceus’ chest. Arceus has no trouble to recognize it for what it is: The bond forged between itself and Ash, which rouses into its mind the memories of Ash fiercely hugging its neck just before its departure to lend the Dragons its aid to mend the dimensional tear left behind by the ghost’s rampant wandering. It is already a potent connection but not quite still the intensity that is usually found when a Legend decides to be mated. It is not that Arceus does not wish to build upon it; only that if they progress too quickly – 

(The image flashes briefly through its mind but enough to make Arceus mentally recoils. The ghost of the moment’s helplessness is eerily intense as it watches Ash and his dreadful retching, the awfully dragging seconds as it seeks through the fogs of the Dreamworld for his disembodied spark…) 

_-You wouldn’t condemn the Young Master if he’d asked for you,_ Uxie is saying in a tone of someone who has just found a solid basis to make an argument, _-It goes both ways, Master._

And then, the final nail in the figurative coffin courtesy of Azelf: _-Besides, what if he thinks that you want to be away from him?_

_-Now that is just unnecessary._

However, Arceus’ retort lacks the anger which should have accompanied it. 

Ash has said something to the same effect before, but the light-heartedness with which he said it makes it sounds like a witticism. Hearing it said from another source, on the other hand, sounds like an accusation that is given more weight by the fact that it originates from the Lake Guardians. Before Arceus consciously decides to do it, its body is already acting on the agitation and unfolds itself from the meditative sitting. 

How is it that the mere idea of Ash’s displeasure is backing Arceus into an inescapable corner like this? 

Arceus allows itself an undignified snort, helping it to keep the annoyance in check as the Lake Guardian’s sense of triumph floods over their connections. Their smugness in the success, though well-deserved, does not really feel appropriate for ancient beings that are the Guardians of Spirit. They know as well as Arceus does that Ash has more faith in it to not be swayed so easily, but the validity of their claim does not matter as much compared to the result – that is, coaxing Arceus to end its stay in the Palace of Origin and seek its mate immediately. 

Then again, they are simply concerned in the same way Dialga and Palkia are concerned for their Master and its human consort. In the same way Delia is worried about them too, for that matter. 

_-I am returning now. There is no need for that kind of mind tricks,_ Arceus broadcasts and sense in return their triumph magnifying tenfold. In any case, Ash is more likely than not to side with the Lake Guardians’ stance than its own. There is not much argument can be offered when Ash is certainly more than welcoming of its reappearance. 

_-As you should be,_ they say one last time – seemingly just so they can have the last word – before they cease connections with the Original One. 

Of course, the Lake Guardians are very, very smug about that as well. 

  


  
*****

  


Ash counts the days without consciously wanting to. By the time he is aware of the habit, he sees no reason to stop and so continues to tick off the passing days on his fingers. By the seventh, his body feels as normal as it will get, the various aches completely gone, though the memories of the Edge of Dreams remain as fuzzy snapshots of a vast field and its winged, brooding master: Yveltal, the name which remains embed firmly in his mind. Arceus has warned of it beforehand, that a living being surviving the journey through the deeper parts of the Dreamworld tend to lose one’s memories of the experiences, to varied extents depending on the individuals. It is a subconscious instinct to preserve one’s psyche against the pressure of the paranormal. Ash begins to worry how much parts of his mind has born witnesses to fantastical events and have them deleted afterwards, just so he can remain functioning like a normal human being than rambling on the side-street as a madman. 

On that note, was there people he has met and befriended, but consequently forgotten? Baraz and Meray are at least recovered, the siblings whom he has met and were a large part of the event at Dahara Tower. He is afraid that somewhere in the dustbin of his mind there are more faces and names which he ought to recognize but now thrown away because he makes a damn poor job at keeping himself away from things he shouldn’t have dabbled in. Not that he asks for any of this – troubles come flocking to him like he is a weirdness magnet even while asleep. He wants to ask Arceus about this further, but decides that there is no point asking it why his life turns out one way on not the other. Seeing that Arceus itself is one of the weird factors which he has attracted into his life (literally and figuratively), the least he wants happening is for the Legend to misperceive it as a complaint about Arceus itself. 

By the time he reaches his tenth finger, there is still no signs of Arceus. He repeats the round from the first finger of the first hand, telling himself to be patient and trying not to dwell on it too much, with varying success that leans more towards failure. 

“That’s not very tactful of her – _it,_ I mean,” Delia has said when a fortnight’s time has passed. She still has troubles conceiving the Legend as – well, a Legendary Pokémon, instead mentioning it now and then as if Arceus is a human woman. “It knows you were hurt so what’s with the rush to leave?” 

Ash has his misgivings to disclose everything about his encounter with the ghost of Cyrus and Shadow of Hoopa; opted instead to frame it in such a way like he is helping the other Pokémon Professors to contain the ghost, in which Arceus’ unexpected participation eventually leading to its banishment after wreaking collateral damages on himself and the other Professors. His mother has looked at him like she senses that it is only a partial truth but has chosen to accept it the way it is told to her. Nevertheless, she does not agree that they are going their separate ways so soon, albeit Arceus has promised her that its absence will be temporary no less than ten times. 

“I’m sure Arceus has urgent stuffs to do, mom. I won’t put it past Arceus that there’s a rampaging Pokémon or a monster or whatever out there that need stopping before it runs over a village.” 

In truth, he knows roughly why Arceus decided to leave. On the other hand, telling Delia that Arceus is off mending some space-time shenanigans, for which the ghost who has landed him in near-death mess was responsible for, does not seem like a good idea for the sake of Delia’s mental health. He has already feared the worse at the prospect of revealing Arceus’ true identity to her, it feels like he is risking his fortune now after it turns out that Delia is at least accepting of his choice. 

Despite the censorship, his mother has quirked up an eyebrow that somehow conveys more scepticism than any eyebrow-raising should be capable of. “You know, I’m starting to get worried that you’re talking about a monster and destroyed village like it’s all in a day’s work.” 

_“Their_ days, not mine. I’m not a Legendary ‘mon, Mom.” 

“Yes. And you happen to be dating one of them. That’s close enough in my book.” 

He does not know enough about the Legendary Pokémon to answer all the questions he has and even less to make his mother understand their circumstances. What he knows for certain is that Arceus, like all Legends, are fiercely dedicated that there is no stopping them from carrying out what they think of as their responsibilities. At least, this time Arceus has the grace to not running off to who-knows-where without first telling him about it. 

That does not mean Ash is happy with the arrangement which, if he thinks about it, is why Delia is so against it too. 

There is one good thing to come out of it, though. Despite her dissatisfaction, she has no protest against having him around. Arceus has insisted on his staying at his family home to 'ensure complete recovery after the trauma' – Arceus’ exact words to Delia – and which she gleefully uses to her advantage every time he so much tries to suggest that he already feels as healthy as possible, and that he should probably be going along. Since contending with her amounts at best to an additional hour of back-and-forth, he decides to save them both the time and energy, instead helping her around the house. Once, he tries to lend her a hand at the restaurant though his mother and her few waitresses manage by themselves just find, his presence feels more of a bother than helping. Unfortunately, there is not much thing to do when you are practically grounded, albeit for benign reasons, so after days of visiting the Oak laboratory and training with his Pokémon, he decides to simply take a stroll through the town. 

After the Hall of Origin, the shadow-world the ghost has created to trap him and his friends and the barren landscapes under Yveltal’s judgement, the dins of shouting voices, stomping feet and general humdrums of the town is wonderfully familiar and real as he walks along the road, taking in the scenery and breathing in the morning air full with scents of coffee and fresh bread. He likes the feeling, of being in the thick of things and being among real, solid, absolutely human-people, full of life and everyday normal things that does not pose a threat of bodily harm or enforced amnesia – 

(A half-forgotten conversation arises in his mind, comprised of words spoken in Yveltal’s gruff tones; a figure in the distance, which the dark Legend took inexplicable notice and reminded him of a vulture who has just seen the last breath of its prey…) 

– and he should really not be thinking of otherworldly things when he is on the normal plane of existence… 

_…Like that’s even possible anymore._

Ash is not sure whether his mental voice sounds sarcastic, dismayed or matter-of-factly. Something in his brain may just go off if he should be reminiscing about the Edge of Dreams and the ghost that has coiled the life out of him – 

“Well now,” he says aloud and shakes the cobwebs of reverie out of his mind, in the process startling a little girl and her mother who happen to walk past him. 

Pikachu, all the while effortlessly padding beside him to match his leisurely steps, looks up at the sudden muttering concernedly. Whether the Trainer realizes it or not, the Pokémon has been witness to many of his spontaneous soliloquy ever since their return from Allearth Forest. Sometimes they are only grunts and humming, but there are also quiet murmurs as though he is reading sentences off a piece of paper that no one else can see. During the night, it becomes rare that Ash does not talk at least once in his sleeps – nothing particularly frightening, and certainly no thrashing or screaming from nightmares, but it seems his brain is reliving the pasts when sleeps robs him of conscious thoughts. Mostly these incidents escape the notice of his mother whose presence wholly occupies Ash’s attention that he has no room for wayward reveries, but the patterns do not escape Pikachu’s notice who is inevitably near the Ketchum the whole time. Although he does not bring it to the Ketchum’s attention, quietly the Pokémon keeps it in his mind to inform Arceus when it comes back, just in case… 

Ash, meanwhile, is struggling with himself. Dismayed that he apparently is so affected that his mind tends to escape into nostalgia if he is not careful, Ash begins to see the merits of Arceus’ insistence. He may not be a rambling madman just yet but this feels like a step towards that end. Immersed in his glum muses, and Pikachu with his Trainer’s health, they both are unaware of Dawn’s approach until it is impossible not to see her – that is, being right in front of Ash. 

Ash takes a second to register that there is a hand touching his fingers and follows the arm to the face, who belongs to a rather confused and concerned Dawn. 

“Are you okay there, Ash? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” 

“Yeah, I’m fine, just remembering… stuffs.” 

The reply only deepens her concern. Somehow she understands that ‘stuffs’, as general as the term is, means his recent brush with un-death. He intends to reassure or at least put her at ease, but then decides that it is no use glossing over the fact they are both aware of. 

“I’ll get over it.” At least, this is something he can say with confidence. 

“Sure you would. Just do it quickly.” 

Her smile shows Ash the relief he is hoping to see rather than her early caution of his well-being. He has been enough of a burden with his recent predicament, at least he should not be the cause of anyone’s worry again that he is not about to become the male version of sleeping beauty soon (although the ‘beauty’ part is definitely arguable). 

They both agree that the middle of the street is no proper place to stop and chat, thus deciding to head over to a nearby café-plus-bakery, one of the many shops which line the side of the road. Upon entering the place, Ash discovers to his liking that café is not overcrowded that it will be uncomfortable, but not lacking in customers that they should feel awkward. The sounds of chatting are not overwhelming but rather a pleasant and study buzz of voices in the background. An unoccupied table at the back of the shop catches their eyes, a quaint little place by the window that affords them a view of the street outside. 

Soon they have mugs of steaming cocoa in front of them while Pikachu is off to the Pokémon-friendly counter to select for his breakfast. A waitress arrives soon after, carrying for them a plate of assorted fruit slices for Dawn and Ash’s maple-syrup loaded pancakes. Dawn pays for them both (“It’s on me, I’ve been meaning to do this for a while,” and hands the payment before Ash can do so) despite his protest and for a while, there are only sounds of chewing and clattering utensils. Ash hesitantly notices that Dawn is quieter than usual, even with the misgivings of them being in the middle of eating, which is a strange thing to think of. Maybe she is not so much being quiet as she is being reserved but he feels like whatever in her mind is hers to spill in her own time and pace. Ash has always thought of himself possessing not as much of an innate tact as he would’ve liked, but being around Arceus must have influenced… _something_ in him. He certainly hopes this is the case. 

At last, when she is done with her breakfast, she begins tentatively, “So… 'she’s' not back yet?” 

By right, nobody not privy to his little secret would not have guessed that the ‘she’ Dawn is talking about comes in the form of a quadrupedal, trio-Mastering, Judgment-dispensing Legendary Pokémon, although the cautiousness and the lowered volume will be more appropriate employed in a roomful of eavesdroppers. 

“No,” he replies and ignores the stab of loneliness when what he prefers is to say ‘yes’. “She’s… gone off for a while. Some works with… um, ‘the others’.” 

Ash has assumed that he will grow used to it over time, and in some ways, he does come to naturally expect (and dread) the moment when Arceus would say, _Forgive me, but now I must go_ or its variants. However, the waiting that comes after has not lost a bit of the anxious anticipation for its next reappearance. 

Dawn seems to assume broadly that ‘the others’ mean ‘other Legendary Pokémon that Arceus can call upon’, and leave it at that. “Anyway, I was hoping I’d run into you today.” 

“What’s with the rush? You sound like you’ve got someplace to be.” 

“Well, yes. I’m heading back to Sinnoh, to Twinleaf Town.” 

Ever since his return to Kanto, she and Brock have been semi-regular visitors to his house while he spends his days recuperating, Brock more so than Dawn. On most occasions, Dawn resorts to Holocaster vid-calls despite repeatedly reassuring them that he is feeling better each day and that he has absolutely no objection to them dropping by (he has a nagging feeling that she is trying to avoid him somehow, or at least put some distances between them, but it is plain unreasonable and so has been soundly dismissed). It comes off as a surprise to them as well that Arceus would be gone mere few days after the day of their arrival, but of course they find it wiser to accept the fact as it is. 

Unfortunately, Brock has to leave town a few days ago to respond to an emergency call by a local breeding centre who is run by a college-mate of his. Ash has never known that a Pokémon can have considerable troubles to lay eggs versus, say, other animals giving birth (but what does he know, anyway? Pokémon breeding is an enigma even to those who take up the profession). But Brock has made it in no uncertain terms that this case, while a rare occurrence, is the worst-case scenario for any Pokémon breeders. 

That leaves only Dawn around, but apparently this is about to change as well. 

“I’ve stayed here longer than I should,” Dawn is saying, her intonation sounding for some reason like a confession, “… and I didn’t exactly left home on intentions.” In fact, it completely flies over his head that Dawn does not come from this region at all, and the circumstances of her leaving her hometown is yet unknown to him. He asks her to elaborate, whereupon he immediately regrets his decision when he sees the passing of dark clouds over her face. Something is bothering her, just like he is relentlessly haunted by his memories of the ghost and all the consequences it has instigated – it stands to reason that Dawn too is inflicted to some extent, being a victim of Carolina-ghost’s kidnapping before his part came to be played. 

“Sorry, forget I ask,” he says quickly, hoping that the damage control is enough but feeling that he is actually achieving the opposite. 

“No, it’s okay. It’s a good thing to just… talk, you know…” 

And so, astonished, Ash listens as Dawn reveals a fantastical narrative that starts from a water-vortex in the middle of Lake Verity and her accidental falling into the Mirror World, leading to her consequent encounter with Giratina and Prof. Graceland who were on the hunt of the ghost, then named the Intruder by the former; to the decision to ask for Prof. Carolina’s in aiding their tracking of their quarry; to their ugly shock in finding out that, upon being lured into the Celestic Ruins, that the respected professor was more than meets the eye for all the wrong reasons as her shadows took on a form that could not possibly be made by her tall but definitely human figure… 

“And you know how the rest goes, Ash. You and the others fighting and all that when Prof. Graceland and me woke up.” 

It is easily dismissible as a hoax to other people, but this is Ash she is talking to. Being kidnapped by a non-human falls into the Medium of Weird-o-Meter scale, while having connections to him in some ways apparently ups the probability of freaky things happening by around thirty percent. It is beyond his humanly capabilities but Ash cannot help feeling himself somewhat responsible for the troubles. 

Worrying about this is pointless though, so he says instead, “Things went downhill really fast. I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner.” 

“I’m just glad anyone could get to us at all.” Apparently arriving at a mental hurdle at this, Dawn jumps over obstacle with the help of a mouthful of cocoa she swallows in one go. “Make no mistake, Ash. That… Cyrus… Hoopa –” 

_“Shadow_ of Hoopa,” he corrects automatically, knowing the tremendous difference it makes between the two designations. 

_“ – them,_ I hear them talking, sort of, when they got me… in my mind. It was like a nightmare, except I knew I wasn’t asleep or dreaming. I _swear_ they were doing it on purpose, letting me know about what they were going to do. Like… like they _feed_ on fear: The more scared I was, for all of us, the more excited they became.” 

Ash remembers despite his psyche’s efforts to keep it under wrap. It is not perfect but... there are snapshots, stills, short-term memories. The suave voice calmly explaining their intentions to him, the aberrantly tender touches of inhuman limbs on his person, a serpentine length that suffocated the mind. The sense of desperation and anticipation for a feast after the unsatisfying drips of nourishment. Their shocked displeasure to find that he had retaliated against the odds. His suffering prolonged into something that went beyond the pain of the body… This is where, if his mind is a piece of paper, it feels like someone has apparently got hold of psychological equivalent of an eraser and wipes away the clear outlines, leaving only vague smudges that suggest a sensation of a devastating coldness. 

Despite the cheerfully sunny morning and the steaming cocoa which he occasionally sips, Ash can still feel a phantom chill settling in his bones. 

He remembers also the desperate struggles to resurface, fighting against their rage. Had come about to the sight of the Original One, radiating an astral wrath that has caused the demise of stars and cleave apart worlds beyond the Earthly Realms. He has prior experiences of staring into Arceus’ eyes, and particularly in the brief lapse of control from the Legend it is as if he is being pulled head-first into a lightless and bottomless well. However, unpleasant as that may be there is at least a sense of boundary, if one that was _just_ beyond his grasp. _This_ time, it was vaguely comparable to gazing up at the endlessness of the night sky and suddenly finding that it was staring right back at you. And then, as the Great Eyes recognized the soul that was Ash Ketchum, they had descended, narrowed, compressing the focus until the physical eyes of Arceus could contain it and held him in its gaze which was no longer mercilessly hollow but anxious and fearful for the mere human whom it had claimed as its other half… 

He had reached out for Arceus’ help to save the others, feeling that he was himself had nowhere to go but down the gullet of the hungry beast. 

“Ash!” 

The mug teeters precariously for a few seconds, threatening to spill over its contents of frothy water, but Ash’s hand snatches the handle with the groomed lightning-reflex of a Pokémon Trainer reaching for the Pokéballs. It is safely and firmly back on the table before Ash’s conscious thoughts realize that he has, in fact, accidentally knocked the mug out of being startled from his reverie by Dawn’s calls. 

“…Whoops.” 

A number of curious patrons peek over not-so-surreptiously over the back of their couches or across the tables, but soon decides that it is not worthy of gossip materials since there is no hearty slap to his face involved. 

Pikachu rushes over to his Trainer at the slight commotion, his tray of chosen nibbles and munchies promptly forgotten. It occurs to him suddenly that over the course of his healing, Pikachu has been responsible for yanking him back to solid Earth during most of his unexpected reminiscences. It is also a blessing, by the loosest definition of the term, that his episodes do not come with a side-serving of skull-splitting headaches that he has been inflicted upon remembering Baraz, Meray and Hoopa. He is not half as knowledgeable about stuffs like this to say exactly why, but he suspects that it is because he is not actively digging into his memories so much as they come to catch him unaware. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t –” 

“No, you are right. It is good that I get to talk about it than keep it all inside.” 

At least, he is not having a one-sided conversation with only his conscience to provide the other half. He scratches Pikachu on top of his head and repeats the reassurances that he has given to Dawn, sending him back to his business of breakfast-picking. The daydreaming is only a side-effect – a massively annoying side-effect, but not actively harmful as far as he can tell. 

Speaking of harmful… 

“What about the others? Prof. Rowan and Prof. Carolina, Cynthia, Tonio and Alice…” 

Ash has been reluctant to personally call them and ask for their conditions, anxious that he is going to be beset with endless questions about Arceus that he is not sure can answer without revealing too much about the nature of their relationship. The stress is bad enough in telling it to his mother, and while Prof. Sycamore seems very, very casual about it, he has no idea what to expect from different people. Besides, he has a nagging feeling that Arceus is not going to like it very much if its more tender side is revealed to ‘outsiders’. Apparently, despite the lack of verbal warning, Prof. Sycamore nevertheless understood the implied ones and has kept mum on his knowledge of Ash and Arceus. A good thing too because Ash is not keen on having Cynthia’s Garchomp set on him for keeping things to himself. Maybe he will drop by once the ‘excitement’ has settled down… 

In any case, Brock and Dawn has kept them up to date without revealing the details of their expeditions beyond “they found Arceus who needed Xerneas to heal Ash and finally succeeded”. 

“Doing better than you, that’s for sure,” and she describes how the Lake Guardians had healed the rest of them, although with Ash they were hopelessly stumped until Arceus did the unthinkable and basically spirited him away. 

Asking Arceus itself before, the Legend has been reluctant to disclose the events past its arrival and consequent banishing of the ghost, whose details are also glossed over. It was slightly more accommodating to tell him about the disjointed pieces of the event, which was started with the newly amalgamated Cyrus and Shadow of Hoopa, having escaped Cyrus’ prison in the Closed World, has crept into Earthly Bound through one of the weakest dimensional barrier in Alamos Town and latching onto Tonio by chance. By being its first host-plus-hideout, Tonio too was subjected to the same amnesiac spells and unconsciousness, during one of which Ash and Brock had found him and brought to the hospital. The ghost has been amassing just enough sustenance to keep themselves alive from Unowns’ life-forces until then, but Tonio still proved inadequate – hence its transfer to another host. With an air of heavy guilt, Arceus had also confirmed that the reason of its unannounced departure from the milk café had been driven by its natural instinct to protect the wounded Unown. From Brock’s assumptions, Ash gathers that the ghost has possessed Prof. Carolina during her visit of Tonio in the hospital and later, attempted to do the same to Alice – seeking potential hosts by virtue of their ‘connectedness’ to Legendary Pokémon and keep themselves empowered. That they all ended up in the same place at the Celestic Ruins were both by chances and the ghost’s designs, who was getting starved for more to sustain their growing powers and was planning to reap them all in one fell swoop. 

Ash has found it contradictory that he should be among the last ones it targeted, seeing that his own Aura is apparently ‘enticing’, but Arceus found the explanation to it as well during a brief meeting with Palkia – that the ghost needed to do some growing before he could prey on individuals who were more closely linked to Legends as opposed to being exposed to the ambience of one when in its proximity. It would also explain perfectly why it was taking caution not to be in the vicinity of an actual Legendary Pokémon, who would have cut short its careful planning easily. 

Not that Arceus has anything flattering to tell about its operation, either. 

_-Perhaps I would deign to give it more credit,_ Arceus has said with a disdain people normally reserved when talking about a particularly annoying mosquito, _-were it not being so_ stupid _to use the Reverse World to reach its victims. Leaving disturbances all over the place is as far from being discreet as it could possibly be, especially with Giratina around. The nerves…_

(At this point Ash ceased his ‘interviews’, sensing that something was amiss with the Original One. To say that it felt like a dormant volcano would be a gross understatement – Arceus can be reasonably tolerant, but when it does hold grudges you _wishFortunately, the dinner bell never does ring for Cyrus-Hoopa Shadow ghost. All in all, given the magnitude of the risks, the threat is solved with appreciably low collateral damages, which he says so to his friend._

__

“Says you. I’m sure Ar – I mean, _Alice_ would’ve disagreed.” Dawn waves her hand in Ash’s general direction, her gestures speaking amply for her meaning. 

__

“Hey, I’m still here.” 

__

Dawn’s eyes manage an impressive feat of acrobatics in their sockets. “Seriously, Ash. I’m not that familiar with her, but I get the sense that kind of answers aren’t going to sit very well with her.” 

__

“She’s got that habit, yeah.” Ash chuckles, putting down his mug lest he is in danger of snorting in hot water before continuing, “I _told_ her I’m feeling good enough, but then she put her foot down and even my mom just went along. I guess when you’ve got to keep –” his voice drops a few bars in its volume, “– the Creation Trio in line, people just tend to listen to you.” 

__

Pikachu comes back with a tray laden with pastries and muffins, and begins tucking in immediately as he sits at the table beside Ash. The Trainer smiles, transfers a piece of syrup-soaked pancake which he has been saving for the Pokémon, and leaves Pikachu to his device. He returns to their interrupted conversation without missing a beat. 

__

“Anyway, it’s two against one, so it’s no use trying to change either of their minds. And with how I am right now, I don’t want to bring any more trouble than I already did. Least I can do is get properly healed before she is done and comes back here.” 

__

“I guess that’s one thing you both have in common: Seeing things through until the very end. I guess I’m… not really surprised with that.” From just above the line of her mug her eyes peer at him with the intensity that puts him on alert, if only because he senses that it is helping her form her own ideas. She gives a few more sips, but it is evident to him that her mind does not register the taste at all, or if it is aware that her muscle controls are switched on to ‘drinking’. 

__

“I suppose that’s why… or rather, that’s _how_ you manage…” Her face makes a grimace that sends horribly mixed signals to Ash, who does not have the best fine-tuning when it comes to things besides making friends or challenging others to a good friendly match. Both are clearly of no use here. “Look, I… I don’t know how to put this. It’s just – you and her – all three of us were sent back in time to help Damos. I don’t see…” 

__

“It’s not then. And it didn’t go like _that.”_ Suddenly, he understands, although he is not too sure if that is going to help him or kick him in the ass. “Hell, Arc – Alice might look at us and see a bunch of toddlers back then. She’s got a long way ahead of us in this living business.” 

__

As soon as he says it he winces with guilt that people only realizes is an offense once it is far too late to take it back. Now he makes Arceus sounds like a… sick pervert, and he winces again when remembering that it is close enough to the term that Arceus was dreading being labelled with when it told him its intention. Arceus can be a harsh judge, but harshest of all if the defendant is itself. He winces for the third time as _sick, perverted cradle-robber_ floats to the forefront of his mind, spoken in the sharp, acidic tone of the Alpha Legend despite Ash’s insistence otherwise. 

__

“I talked to Brock about this. I saw that he’s not really surprised, and he seemed to know something ever since we fought that ghost. I just… want to hear it from you.” 

__

“There’s not much to tell.” Suddenly he feels oddly defensive. She is just curious, that’s all. She is not even being offensive about it. That does not stop him from feeling the sudden urge to talk about the weather, and how he looks forward to the uncomplicated subject of weather-ness. 

__

“I’m not _against_ it, if that’s what you’re concerned of.” 

__

A rare spark of perceptiveness in his brain: She may say so, but she does not say that she ‘likes’ it either. On the other hand, he should count that as another lucky stroke that he is not yet facing outright objection. It would not make him leave Arceus, they have gone too far that there is no backing away from this, but having a good friend of his disapproving is going to be very depressing. 

__

Desperate to try easing the heavy awkwardness between them, and the sense that she is misperceiving an anger on his part, he says, “I mean, there’s nothing alien about it. We met, we became friends, we met some more and… before we realized it, it’s… _there.”_

__

This is surprisingly exhausting. Why is he having such a hard time to talk, or come up with something to say, for that matter? When he is with Arceus, there are a million things he feels like talking about and most of the time, he does not even need to. Arceus seems to pluck the idea straight out from his brain (though the Legend has clarified that it is merely reading his general moods and trying to associate it with other clues), giving them ‘forms’ with words for Ash’s confirmation or going straight to making its personal responses to whatever his brain has been entertaining. 

__

He can only imagine the kind of questions that he would have been faced with if he has submitted to the Pokémon Professors, and what kind of (squeaky, stuttering) responses they would be getting out of him. Surely that will be worse than facing a well-trained Garchomp… 

__

“I’m sorry I wasn’t trying to upset you,” she says in a rush of a single breath. She has the air of someone trying to talk to someone else who has one foot planted firmly on the roof of a building, while the other dangles precariously in the empty air. 

__

Sometimes when one looks in the dictionary it gives the synonym of ‘upset’ with ‘unsettled’, though in that moment Ash thinks that there are subtle differences between the two. He is definitely feeling the latter, as if someone has just warmed his seat to a degree that goes a little way over ‘comfortable’, but not accurately upset. He just wants it over with as soon as possible and with the littlest fuss as can be managed. 

__

“I’m being nosy, am I? I didn’t mean it, I’m – I’m just curious. It’s not something you’d expect happening –” 

__

“That makes two of us - the 'not-expecting' bit, not the 'nosy' bit.” 

__

Hazy recollections of hints from various sources which now blur together in his mind and Arceus’ story-telling inform him of the time when people and Pokémon used to be a lot more ‘aware’ of each other – whatever that means, but the way Arceus intoned it gives it a different meaning than the oh-I-see-you-standing-there aware. As a result, they saw the various creatures living alongside them as a friend first and a Pokémon second, and sometimes, the ‘friend’ part became something more. A family, a brother, even a life-partner… 

__

In those days, a couple of a human and a Pokémon was still a spectacle, Arceus said, just not as scarce as today. And they were not under as heavy critics as well. In the same breath, Arceus has made it clear that it has no allusion that its bonding with a human will be similarly perceived in this day and age, but it did restore some of Ash’s unhinged stability with his own self. 

__

He closes his eyes and sighs. 

__

“It’s not unheard of, though.” He draws his memories of his brief conversation with Brock while they were walking back from visiting the bed-ridden Tonio in the hospital, in what feels like a lifetime ago. 

__

“I know, but it feels like something that happens to other people. People who live on the other side of the world. A fairy tale.” She gives a wry look that says she does acknowledge that her shock is less intense compared to Ash by a thousand mile. “I know, maybe I’m being a bit… pushy here. You could use with less questioning, but –” 

__

“You’re curious,” he says evenly and looks her straight in the eyes. In truth, he is amazed how she manages to be tactful about it when there isn’t much option to go about it. If he is in Dawn’s shoes, he may have been far less discreet than she does. “I guess I owe you guys that much, a bit of backstory. Though there’s really not much to it.” 

__

He wishes he has something else to say. It does not make much of a story, the way he and Arceus tentatively begin to explore the possibilities of ‘marriage’ with each other. And what is there is mostly intimate in a different way than having sex, which is itself a subject he rather cast himself off a cliff than talk about it so openly. Arceus’ earnest efforts to adapt to the prospect of a human mate are oddly personal, meant only for him to bear witness. 

__

“Ash, it’s not something easy to talk about. Thank you, I – I’m glad to hear it…” 

__

It is not that her smile is not genuine. However, there are too many emotions involved in that one simple gesture, making him feel like he is standing on a rickety see-saw without anyone to balance the other end. Perhaps she sees something of his confusion, which is why she shakes her head in a dismissive gesture – _Don’t you worry about it, it’s nothing_ – and says instead, “I guess it’s a bit overdue, but better late than never. Congratulations, Ash.” 

__

Ash feels that they are just about scratching the surface, hence why he is taken by surprise when Dawn continues, “Well… I think it’s time. I’ve got to rush off now, don’t want to miss my flight…” 

__

“Oh, oh yeah, of course…” He hesitates, reeling from the suddenness of the announcement and trying to recover from it, while he watches Dawn reaching across the table to pat Pikachu on the head, who purrs contentedly. “…hey, we should meet again sometimes, you know. And you’re welcomed to drop by if you happen to pass around these parts.” 

__

“Yeah, maybe I should.” She stands up and slings her bag over her shoulder with a decisiveness of a Champion in battle, though she pauses uncertainly around the table. “Again, I’m sorry if I’ve been… intruding.” 

__

“Don’t mention it.” As long as there is not more of it, at least. He just about feels his cheek warming up like a barbecue grille back then. “Come on, if we hurry we might catch the bus to the airport. I can see you off –” 

__

“No, that’s okay. I’ve already booked a cab. It should be waiting for me at the guest house I’ve been staying in. Thanks anyway.” She is casting her gaze around the café, but Ash can tell that she only does so to allow her brain some space to think, her eyes sliding from one object to a person to another object in the place without registering their presences. 

__

Maybe she is affected by the random daydreaming spells too, like he does… 

__

“Dawn?” 

__

“If anyone can make this happens, it’s you, Ash. She is very lucky to have you.” 

__

The glint of resolve is the only clue Ash has for what she is about to do next. 

__

On the opposite side of the table in one moment, Dawn sidesteps the boundary, both the visible and the intangible ones, in the next. In Ash’s perception, she is suddenly there right in front of him seemingly without intervening time or space. She is looking at him with will and purpose intense enough to nail him motionless, feeling vaguely the tips of her shoes bumping against his sneakers. Ash is naturally taller than her, so he is forced to direct his sight downwards to look at her. He means to ask her something – _anything_ – but he is struck by the closeness of her face. Dark blue-grey eyes stare back at him. He never really notices it before, but her face has a feminine yet strong features that artists usually paint in the portraits of noble ladies. He would not have been surprised if Dawn actually has a hitherto-unknown royal lineage in her family. 

__

And then her face is level with him, for she has taken to stand on her toes, and she is kissing him. 

__

Later, when Ash is less disoriented by the event, he realizes that he has his mouth slightly open from his dazed gasp, while Dawn has kept hers strictly closed. 

__

Other funny thoughts race through his mind as well. Her lips brush gently against his, careful but attentive. As though she has it well thought-out before reaching this part and is merely following the plan – a passive, warm pressure that wants only acknowledgement rather than reciprocation. Though not exactly unpleasant, it is a kiss only by technical definition, in the way of mouth touching another mouth. There is no nibbling, licking or the inquisitive searching of each other’s lips, the way Arceus does as if every kiss is its first and its last – 

__

Ash’s thoughts, moving slowly all these while, rocket off blaring an alarm into his immediate consciousness. 

__

However, Dawn is retreating before he can begin thinking what to do next. The corner of her mouth quirks up, but it is too sad an expression to be called a smile. She takes a step back, fingers busying themselves with the straps of her bag unconsciously. 

__

“Best luck to both of you,” she whispers apologetically, nods to both him and the equally dumbstruck Pikachu, and turns on her heels. 

__

Ash shakes himself out of his stupor, a distant feeling that he should have stopped her nagging in his chest but Dawn is well out of the café by the time he finds his voice box cooperative enough to manage more than a croak. He watches her slight figure hurries along the side-street outside from the window by the table, winding her way through and sometimes even against the flow of pedestrians – 

__

“Go get her, boy!” 

__

Somebody among the café customers, somebody who sounds like he is sitting a mere table or two from him, shouts. At other times he would have blushed and more than likely heeded the urge, but now he stands there with his sight glued to the scenery outside, blood rapidly draining from his face instead of into it. Dawn is almost indistinguishable in the distance and among the throngs of people hurrying about with their own businesses. Perhaps her own urgency is dulling her awareness of her surroundings, but a likelier scene is that she cannot have known it. A man whom she passes by cannot be possibly recognizable to her, not when she is introduced to Arceus only as its animalistic form and its womanly disguise as Alice. 

__

But Ash knows, and ‘Aidan’ does _not_ look happy. 

__

_“Oh, no.”_ But those simple words do not give justice to the considerable panic attack that it is only a minor understatement if compared to a monsoon cyclone. “Oh shit. Oh damn. Oh please no –” 

__

Pikachu scrambles towards the window and peers in the same way as Ash, who is now hissing unholy mixtures of curses and laments under his breaths. Pikachu’s long ears droop the second he spies the man sitting cross-legged on the bench, himself apparently attracted to an unseen subject which lays in the rough direction where Dawn has disappeared to. The zig-zagged tail stands up in alarm, the end sparking with involuntary release of static electricity. It is too much to hope for that it is not Dawn that Arceus is tracking, or that the Legend-in-disguise completely misses the whole ‘exchange’ with her, given the placement of the bench he is sitting on happens to conveniently overlook the café Ash is in. 

__

Realization does not ‘dawn’ on him, which suggests a graceful falling into place. Usually it is a flash of inspiration for the Trainer, which explains many instances when he acts out of the blue. However, this instance is more accurately described as a mental explosion. Legendary Pokémon does not take kindly to traitors, and Arceus… well, he has had a first-row seat of the consequence. 

__

'Big' doesn’t even begin to cut out for the incoming trouble he is sensing. 

__

His spell thusly broken, the rush of terror into his systems fuels the rest. He may or may not have knocked off the table in his mad rush, trying to match Pikachu’s speed as they both dash for the door. A few people may have cheered as he passes, something which sounds suspiciously like “Atta boy!” or “There you go!” but his brain discards most things that are not Arceus-centric right now. Nevertheless, a small part in him manages to be flabbergasted at their boldness, screaming them to shut up or they may very well be facing a future involving charred bodies and burnt-down buildings, probably caused by a mysteriously appearing meteor shower. 

__

He loses count of the number of ribs he has elbowed and feet trampled in his race towards Arceus, leaving behind enraged screams or pained ouchs in his wake. It is not a huge distance but by the time he stands in front of the Legend-in-disguise (or bent over holding his knees, as it were), he is wiping sweats off his brows and feeling a sharp needle-stab in his lungs when he tries to suck in extra air. It doesn’t feel right – his fatigue feels disproportionate compared to the strains, being that he is generally a fit man – but his brain is occupied with the more pressing matters that is the person in front of him. The unnaturally green eyes silently watch while he desperately tries to catch his breaths; Ash does not in fact see this, his own view being that mostly of his own feet and the ground, but there is weight in Arceus’ stare that feels like a boulder placed between his shoulder-bones. 

__

“Perhaps,” Arceus says when Ash is just done recovering himself and is about to attempt speaking, “I have interrupted something important here.” 

__

“No no no of course not –,” Ash makes a heroic effort to straighten himself up, overshoots the posture by a few inches backwards, staggers for a few steps in search of stability and finally plants his feet firmly on the ground beside the humanized Pokémon. “We-we’re just having breakfast, yeah. We’re just about done, breakfast.” 

__

_It’s true please believe me_ is left unsaid after a brief struggle with his tongue, which he ends up secretly biting. That feels too much like a plea of the red-handed. 

__

“I can see that _very well.”_

__

The emphasis places a lot more meaning into the simple, seemingly innocent statement. Arceus does not talk like this unless it is holding itself back from doing… something, and Ash has a vague but disastrous ideas what this may include. 

__

“It’s just breakfast it’s true please believe me.” He immediately clamps his mouth shut until his lips feel numb. 

__

A brief silence follows. He has long equated this to the phrase ‘the calm before the storm’, and grows all the more anxious by the insight. Arceus turns his gaze away, his focus given to something that Ash himself cannot see. 

__

_“She knows.”_

__

The voice is a little less human, a little more beast. Arceus still talks physically but now there is a psychic echo in Ash’s mind repeating the words that have just passed into his ears a microsecond ago. 

__

_“You are mine, and she knows it.”_

__

It occurs to him suddenly that he and the unsuspecting people within a mile radius of himself are not the only ones in danger. In fact, the real danger is upon the one person, one girl, who is probably dreamily watching the world passes by the windows of the cab that is carrying her to the airport… 

__

Ash was terrified – and still is, as a matter of fact – but now he knows that it is not for himself mostly. He never hesitates to approach Arceus; actually motivated to do so in the fear of Arceus passing its judgement through misunderstanding. 

__

“There’s got to be a mistake, she wouldn’t –” 

__

_“No mistakes,”_ and while the volume is speaking-level, the words themselves contain a snarl, like a sheathed dagger, _“She knows exactly what she was doing.”_

__

Right now, their distance does not convey the sort of meaning he wants for Arceus. The Trainer seizes the larger hand clenched tightly shut on Arceus’ thigh – and suppresses a grimace as his first contact with Arceus’ skin sends an uncomfortable tingle along his arm, akin to touching a light switch with a wet hand. Thankfully, before he is forced to retract his hand, it fades away just when he thinks he is about to lose it and flops himself down beside the Alpha Pokémon-human. Much to his relief, Arceus does not remove either of their hands from each other, or detest his presence. 

__

On the other hand, Arceus does not actually respond beyond the briefest look at the hand Ash is holding. 

__

“Arceus, look. Look at me, please…?” 

__

Arceus does. Ash has been preparing himself for the sensation of downward spiralling into the void whenever one looks into its eyes, but to his confusion none is forthcoming this time. Instead, the open eyes _feel_ lidded; veiled behind a heavy curtain that allows only the barest shaft of sunlight to pass through. What lays behind them, Ash dreads to know. With an embarrassingly shaky hand he caresses the Legend’s cheek. Arceus’ eyes flicker briefly with a hint of red, but soon the green is back to dominate the irises. Other than that though, they betray no particular emotions besides the general sense of concealment. 

__

“It doesn’t matter, right? I’m here. I’m with you, Arceus.” His hand roams upwards into the hairline, fingers threading the fine black hair. 

__

Ash vaguely notes that people will be talking about this, but from the corner of his eyes he realizes that, while passers-by do glance their way, people are subconsciously drifting away from their vicinity within a few metre-radius. Ash’s exhaustion subsides more slowly than his usual, which he realizes is also an artefact of Arceus’ involuntary radiance of hostility. It is far muted now, but Ash nevertheless notices the similarity to the miasmic restlessness that comes with Arceus’ displeasure as experienced in that transient world between dreaming and waking. 

__

More damningly, Ash remarks that Arceus’s focus is divided, his eyes darting from Ash and to the corners every once in a while. Whatever it is that has caught Arceus’ attention, Ash has a serious doubt that it is anything encouraging if judged from the tight line of his mouth. 

__

“Arceus, please –” 

__

_“Unbelievable,”_ Arceus huffs (or maybe more fittingly, he growls), _“A nuisance now, am I?”_

__

“What?! No! I’ve never –” 

__

_“Not_ you. _But_ they _are of the opinion that I am endangering your romance with HER.”_

__

Is that a _fang_ Ash has just glimpsed? 

__

Ash opens his mouth, and keeps them opened numbly without managing a single word out. He forgets that Arceus is in possession of highly sensitive senses that picks up living Auras as well as the traditional five hearing-touch-taste-smell-sight. He should have just shut the lot of them when he was still in the café; from the direction of his glance, Ash is sure that Arceus has been listening to the people in the shop just now. 

__

Ash half-expects to see a host of meteoritic Judgments streaking through the sky above them any moment now. 

__

However, instead of “JUDGMENT SHALL COME” Arceus instead says quietly, through clenched teeth that does indeed reveal a half-transformed fang among the blockier, more human-looking dentals, _“I shall take my leave now.”_

__

“Arceus, wait, you can’t be –” 

__

_“I will not deter you if you wish to follow.”_

__

The threat of judgement, even the one with lowercase ‘j’, remains unspoken but unmistakable. By all accounts Arceus’ patience is already tested to an alarming stretch, given that there is not yet a visible mark on their surroundings, but the Legend is not without his breaking point. Staying here will definitely accelerate the rush to said limit. 

__

Ash stands up, beckons Pikachu to his shoulder and heeds after Arceus’ retreating back without a second’s thought. 

__

Keeping up to Arceus, even with Arceus who is in a human body, is an effort harder than his pace suggests. His long strides cover more distance than they should, and Ash finds that he has to jog once in a while or he risks being left far behind the Legend-human. Occasionally, Ash calls up to him but soon gives up altogether to save his breaths – he is never replied to anyway and Ash has a suspicion that Arceus is unaware of the Ketchum altogether. The oppressive weight of Arceus’ discontent soon takes their toll on him, leaving him gasping and panting for every bit of oxygen to feed his starved muscles. 

__

Despite his best efforts, eventually Ash does lose sight of Arceus. Luckily for him, he can sort of guess where Arceus’ destination is because now, he is at the fringe of a very familiar mini-forest that is of concern to him for one reason only. Up ahead is a well-concealed trail whose various branches lead into the deeper sections of the forest, one of which will bring him to a secret glade that has been his traditional meeting place with Arceus. He has walked the path too many times that, despite being inconspicuous and potentially confusing with its meandering between the trees, he is no longer afraid of its seeming isolation or of the inhabitants the forest may harbour. Furthermore, navigating it in the light of the day is a rather scenic experience rather than being foreboding, if only Ash is not in a hurry to reach his target. In front of him, Pikachu’s small size and natural agility enables the Pokémon to travel at a faster pace than his Trainer and his brightly yellow form serves as an additional guide for Ash. 

__

In the bright morning sunshine, the sudden burst of light up ahead is mostly inconspicuous from afar, though in the shadow-dappled forest Ash can easily see that it comes from the same direction that he is heading to. He quickens his pace, unsure of what to expect. 

__

Emerging from the line of trees ringing the boundary of the glade, the Ketchum is met with a sight of a white tail-tip the size of his fist. His gaze naturally follows the length of the tail, to the flank decked by the massive golden wheel and an equid body the size of a house, up the long neck and the head which is currently turned away from him and staring into the opposite wall of trees. Transformed to its original feral forme and size, Arceus’ body is shimmering with a layer of gold-tinged, fiery aura that makes its outline blurry as if seen through a mirage. Under normal circumstances Arceus would have readily perceived his presence even if approached from behind, but at the moment it is oblivious to pretty much anything around it. Its focus is turned so deep inward, hardly anything gets in or out of its mind. 

__

This is worse than just Arceus overhearing supports for him to go cavorting with some other girl. An overthinking Arceus, the one who has only its own thoughts for company, is dangerously unpredictable to everyone, most of all its own self. 

__

“Arceus!” 

__

The head tilts mechanically to the source of the shout. Ash is acknowledged, but only with the barest interest. At the moment he feels like he holds significance on par to that of a fly. Its pupils are afire in an unsettling crimson glare. 

__

“Arceus, come… come down here, please?” 

__

But he is rapidly losing the Alpha’s attention. Pikachu’s frantic barks also make no difference when normally, Arceus gives the Pokémon with as much regards as it does the Trainer. Its faraway gaze towards the treeline is both dreamy and frighteningly intense, Ash is half-surprised the trunks do not crack under pressure instantaneously. 

__

The way Arceus moves is deeply unsettling to Ash as well. Everything is stiffly deliberate like a mechanized component rather than an organic being. It reminds Ash too much of the way Arceus behaves during its rampage in Michina town. Ash approaches the only part of it that is within his reach and thumps the Legendary Pokémon on one of its front legs, resigning to the possibility of receiving an instinctive kick in response. Given that the limb ends in a pointed metal-clad hoof, Ash is relieved that this is not so, but worryingly Arceus still fails to respond to him. 

__

Or any external provocation for that matter, since even Pikachu clambering up the other leg and barking loudly from the Legend’s shoulder receives the same result. 

__

He looks up at the Pikachu, thinking. Then he looks at the tall limb which he stands beside. His eyes map all the indents and protrusions along the leg, and then he makes his decision. 

__

For all the handholds and bony structures available to put his feet on, Ash discovers that climbing up Arceus’ leg is significantly more difficult to achieve as a human than a Pikachu even though he is quite adept at gearless climbing. Its silky fur that Ash so loves to touch does not afford traction, and while he can grasp at a fistful in some places, it is still too smooth that his hold slips off like water through his fingers. Repeatedly he utters apologies under his breaths as he struggles to not fall off while making an upward progress one step at a time, in the process ruining the smooth coat or worse, when he is forced to grab hold to whatever bumps that can stop him from slipping off completely. 

__

And still Arceus remains motionless, much to his dismay. He has hoped that the Pokémon will react to the impudence to its body, which Ash privately swears is attempted only when he has no other option. He will take its punishment any day if he can just stop this apathetic brooding. 

__

After a fervent struggle and with Pikachu tugging on his shirt, he finally manages to haul himself onto Arceus’ withers. Truth to be told, Ash has absolutely no idea what to do now that he is up here. Ash has disgraced Arceus’ body enough that he will not attempt anything else beyond knocking on the shoulder-bones and shouting futilely to be heard. His fatigue is made worse by Arceus’ mental emanation oppressing both his body and his mind. Breathless, Ash succumbs to his weariness and collapses against the back of its neck. The climb is short but his muscles ache as if he has endured hours-long hike. There is no comfort to be found in its golden light either; Arceus’ aural projection is a tad too hot for his comfort that is like standing under an afternoon sun. Its frame thrums with an ominous power that circulates under its hide, waiting for its release. 

__

“Arceus, I know you can hear me. Come on…” 

__

He places his hand on the side of its neck and begins massaging the pelt, for lack of better things to do. 

__

“Arceus, say something, please. I’ve come just for you; can’t you see that?” 

__

He imagines that he can feel the passage of breaths in its windpipe and hear the gust of released air somewhere above, through what he thinks of as hidden nostril-equivalents under the cover of the golden plate on its forehead. 

__

“Arceus, please… are you so mad at me, you won’t talk to me anymore?” He bites his lips and buries his face into the patch of fur in front of him. The Original One’s exotic scent of mixed earthy musk, flowers and spices makes a deep part in his chest aches with painful longing. 

__

He has been missing Arceus keenly for the past two weeks, but now there is nothing to give him relief when it is right here with him. 

__

“Arceus, please, just… just… don’t leave me alone…” 

__

A muscle stirs under him. 

__

The neck moves with a fluid grace. Ash, startled by the sudden turn of event, looks up fearfully. Now is the time for his reprimand but at least he manages to coax the Legend out of its despondency, and hopes that he is no longer facing an empty shell of the Pokémon. 

Instead, a voice whispers into his ears and his mind: _-Ash…_

Dawn and Brock has relayed to him of Arceus’ capability to torment with its voice alone, but this is far from being painful. The sound of his name caresses him, in a similar way which his hand is carefully stroking the powerful neck. 

Which, as it happens, is now bent at an extreme angle that makes him cringe from the sight of it, just so Arceus can touch its forehead to his. 

“… Arceus?” 

_-I hear you, and I am here._

_“Arceus!”_

He makes a grab for the face above him, encircling it as best as he can in his arms. In his rush and Arceus’ surprise at his drastic move, he nearly skids off to the side and meets the ground quite a long way down. Luckily his hand holds firm to the Alpha Legend’s lower jaw, and Arceus nudges him back into place between the huge shoulders. Holding on that tightly to Arceus’ head, Ash can feel the vibrations of would-be grunts bouncing in its closed mouth, an involuntary sound of concern when the Ketchum is about to fall off. 

_-Careful, careful…_ Arceus’ voice is strained with worry as it gingerly lowers its body down whilst holding its head still in Ash’s embrace. As it does so, the glow about its figure ebbs into itself, taking with it the sweltering hotness and leaving behind Arceus’ natural warmth. With a gasp of relief, Ash is aware that an invisible weight is suddenly lifted from his chest and making his breathing less strenuous. The withheld energy pulsating through its body dissipates into itself, silenced and put back to slumber for the time being. 

Ash releases Arceus’ head from his arms. The coil of its neck to keep itself in place for his hugging is becoming nauseous to look at. Arceus heaves a thankful sigh but its eyes remain trained on the Ketchum. Its neck is still bent to keep him in its view, only not as severely as before. 

However, Ash doubts that he is completely out of the hot water yet with the way Arceus’ eyes are swathed in a dampened red glow. 

“Arceus, please, just… just hear me out first, okay? Then I won’t stop you after that…” he begins haltingly, stroking the base of its neck to keep himself grounded, “I wasn’t… It’s not like what it seems. I know it sounds lame but believe me… Please, just this one time.” 

Ash has no idea how placated Arceus is right now despite the apparent absence of fury. He fears that look is merely superficial, and that the Legend is yet still easily motivated to antagonism. He has seen enough of Arceus to recognize that not everything has been settled down. Pikachu’s presence is slightly comforting in that he does not feel so alone, but he will not have his Pokémon fix mistakes that is his own doing. 

“I-I know you’re angry, and I deserve it –” Pikachu gives out an alarmed bark and stares long and hard at his Trainer, but Ash forges on with braveness he does not really feel himself possessing, “I didn’t expect that to happen. We didn’t even plan on it. Me and Dawn happened to cross each other’s path and have breakfast. We’re just catching up on what’s been going on after the troubles with the ghost; and then somehow we started talking about you and me; and she’s just about to leave.” 

In his mind, Ash replays their conversations again and again, trying to spot a nuance in there that may offer him an insight, no matter how small. Perhaps he should lay off the details concerning Dawn’s hesitant approach whenever she tries to coax out bits about Arceus’ courting. There is no two ways about it that he and Arceus does make a weird couple; being awkward when talking about it comes with the territory. However, several things are clear to him – Dawn definitely acknowledges the fact that he is having a romantic relationship with a Legendary Pokémon, nor deluding herself that he is unsatisfied with it. 

And she _kissed_ him. That’s the important part. 

_‘She knows exactly what she was doing’._

What does that supposed to mean? 

Ash is not so innocent anymore that he does not know what the gesture entails, especially when given on the mouth. Even so, he does not get the feeling that she was being flirty with him. As long as he has known her, Dawn does not give the impression of a cheating kind of girl, not to mention that she could have tried harder if that is her real goal. 

_NOT THAT I WANT IT,_ Ash thinks as hard as he can in case Arceus is picking up a wrong signal if it is doing that mood-reading thing. The silence has stretched too long and the Original One remains acutely, frighteningly observant over all the spectrum of the senses. 

“She’s not trying to hit on me, I swear,” he blurts out in panic, his tongue getting the better of him than his brain, “I didn’t know what’s that all about but –” 

_-I do,_ Arceus says finally. Ash feels horribly exposed under its imposing gaze and tries his best not to quail, _-and I HATE it._

_Déjà vu_ of flame and blizzard and crushing Judgment flashes across his eyes. Being on the back of the very person who has just said things like that is only a marginal improvement over laying spread-eagled in front of it for easy targeting, the primal, animalistic fight-or-flight instinct in him screams; the other half, who has seen Arceus without the shell of folklore and mysticisms about it, argues that the Legend will not go so far as to harm its mate. 

Seriously. It will not harm its mate _seriously,_ that’s the keyword. 

Nevertheless, he is afraid. Arceus is no longer enclosed in its own rage that it should refuse to respond to the outside world, but Arceus has been forthright with Legendary Pokémon’s protectiveness over what they deem as their rights. Some of the worst calamity to be owed to Legendary Pokémon stem from this very cause, be it territorial disputes or a sense of duty. 

“I – I get it; you have a right to be mad at me. I know, I’d be too if I were you –” 

_-I understand her reasons and I hate it,_ Arceus repeats in a droning voice that suggests it pays very little heed to Ash’s frantic attempt at damage control, _-It would be much simpler if I was ‘only’ angry at her boldness. Yet I see myself in her if the circumstances are reversed; thirsting for the last and only taste of your warmth before you return to your Chosen spouse… one last taste to remember you by, if things have been different…_

“Oh, no… Arceus…” 

Desperate though he is, there is no consolation that Ash can give to Arceus. It will not do to use the obvious better-her-than-me excuse, which is not only mean-spirited but futile when all things considered. He loves both Arceus and Dawn in different light, occupying disparate but equally treasured niche in his life; belittling either of them is incomprehensible to the Ketchum. And so whenever he finds words inadequate, Ash resorts to other, tactile means. In times like this, he regrets that he is so small compared to the Original One, but he will damn try his best to make it count. 

For what it’s worth, he lays against the soft-furred nape and resumes the interrupted massage below the lower neck-spike. Momentarily preoccupied by its contemplation, Ash’s touches bring the Legend’s focus back to the Trainer who meets its stare with eyes as dulled as the Creation Legend. 

_-I do not doubt your faithfulness, Ash, but I cannot help my nature._

“You’ve warned me about it,” he says and tries a smile, which comes off rather awkward. Let his hands do the talking then. 

_-Indeed I do._ Although Arceus still sounds unhappy, at least now it sounds like the Arceus that he has come to know; a far cry from the vengeful chaos-bringer it was when he first saw it. Ash clutches on this silver lining like his life depends on it and in a way, it does. _-My… jealousy is an emotion close to me; it is almost instinct in itself. Neither you nor I can control it. It comes when it comes, but what I_ can _do is choosing to act upon it, or let it be._

“So… you’re not going to… um…” 

_-She is… not a threat. I see no reason to extend it further._

“No, she’s definitely not. She’s a great friend of mine,” and he trails a kiss down the flesh before him, eliciting a shudder from the Alpha Pokémon, “she won’t do things like that to us.” 

_-Ash…_

“Thanks for understanding, Arceus. That means a lot to me.” 

Anyone trying anything which results in a jealous Legendary Pokémon is courting troubles that is borderline suicide. Even with the romantic part out of the equation, Dawn has seen first-hand the aggressiveness with which the Legends are capable of and knows better than to try testing their patience; the three-way fights between Dialga, Palkia and Darkrai over Alamos town is a prominent example. 

_-I have had a glimpse into her mind and Aura. It is of no wonder she is Mesprit’s Favoured,_ Arceus says with a kind of admiration Ash himself feels whenever he is facing a strong challenger in a Pokémon battle. _-She is a survivor, if ever I have seen one. In time, she will heal. And she will do so more quickly than I could, for human hearts are resilient. They love dearly, and when hurt they hurt deeply – but they will mend themselves, for life is too precious and too fleeting to be wasted…_

_-But Legends… we are made to last. We live a long life; so long that you humans view us as immortals. We exist in the extremes. Our wounds heal and scars may fade, but the pain lingers. It always will… and so too, whatever pleasure which may bless us._

A number of ethereal tendrils sprouts near Ash, golden and gentle in their radiance. They slither and glide their ways towards the Ketchum; wrapping him in a loving embrace, stroking his face and touching his skin like an angel’s kiss. Ash can do nothing against the tender onslaught but to indulge in their living warmth. 

_-I have lived the life of a star, Ash. One day, perhaps, I too will die its death. I do not know if I will be scattered throughout the universes until there would be no part capable of thinking as ‘I’; or if my life should collapse in on itself until there is but an insignificant singularity._

“Arceus, stop –” Ash gasps, feeling his throat choked with an unexpected ache at the lonely words, and bites his lips so hard he nearly damages the skin. The corner of his eyes sting with warm and salty beginning of a tear. He wipes them off with the back of his hand fiercely. 

_-I am glad that, whatever may come, I shall have these moments with you. I am fortunate, exceptionally fortunate, to find a soul that I can love… and who loves me in return, while there is still time._

Several of Arceus’ aura-strands are converted to its manipulative ones, turning purple and more tangible to the touch. Gently, these begin to cradle Ash’ body, lifts him off its back and settles him in front of the Original One’s head which is lowered to his eye-level. 

“Don’t talk like that, Arceus. Please, just – don’t.” He struggles to speak coherently against the tightness in his chest, and wins after a tremendous effort on his part, “What matters is here and now. I’m right here and I’m not leaving, so you shouldn’t either. You’ve promised.” 

Words have weights to them. That is why mere speech has potentials beyond the immediate circles of listeners. That is why an agreement is normally acknowledged with concrete language, in verbal pledges or written vows. And words spoken by beings like Arceus become vessels of power, as true and binding as life and death itself. Hence, when Arceus, seeking the comfort of its mate in his arms and basking in the sheer energy of his life, utters words whose essence is as ancient as the world, that has survived the ravages of time and the vanity of lies in the hands of fools, yet still finding their rightful place on the lips and hearts of lovers… 

_-I love you, Ash._

… it becomes a truth that beats with the heart and soul of the Original One itself, a legacy that lives on beyond the boundary of the mortal worlds. 


	29. Epilogue I

If he is a character of any sort in a horror, thriller or mystery summer flicks, Ash is sure that he will be among the casualties, probably the type who rushes into danger and gets his comeuppance quickly in a gruesome yet silly way. 

After all, the normal reactions of seeing images in the mirror turning out to be not exactly accurate reflections will be to scream and haul ass as quickly and as far away as possible from the offending mirror. There is something to be said about his way of thinking when he, faced with similar scenario, points out to said mirror-surface – in his case, the still shallows of a huge puddle, remnants of last night’s heavy rain – and says, “Did you see that?” 

On the other hand, he deserves a little leeway in that this is not his first experience with abnormally behaving mirror-reflections, and besides, he has a wiser back-up to tell him off in case it turns out to be actual threats. 

However, Arceus shows no inclination to self-defensiveness; instead gliding up to his side and peers into the same pool of water, which reflects an image of Arceus dwarfing its human mate and, all in all, looks deceptively uninteresting at the moment. 

_-Ah._

“What is it?” He has a good idea what this is about, or at least who causes it, but a confirmation will be nice. Balanced on his shoulder, his Pikachu twitches his nose thoughtfully at the innocent water puddle. From edge to edge, it measures roughly about two metres and, if it is actually a normal collection of rainwater, should be no deeper than his shins. 

_-An invitation, I should guess._

“That’s the Reverse World on the other side?” 

_-I am convinced of it, yes._

“What should we do?” 

_-Jump in. It is a good course of action as any._

Somebody else may argue, but Ash knows that he does not occupy the same normality axis as most other people. For start, normal people don’t ever get to visit Giratina’s domain or survive one’s meeting with the Antimatter Legend. However, Ash knows better that there will be no opportunity to think about it if Giratina is actually feeling unfriendly – he will simply be sucked into its world whether he wants to or not. Given the lack of hostility, Ash is feeling rather excited with the prospect of visiting the Reverse World and its Guardian Legend. Plus, as far as he knows it may well be bad manners to reject invitations without due reasons. 

Pikachu bounds off his Trainer and barks at it. The surface ripples with more than just soundwaves and for just a few short moments, it glows with unnatural mosaics of colours. Pikachu sticks a paw into the water, hesitates for a second or two, and then plunges the rest of his body into it. The tip of his tail vanishes with a small _plop_ like a cast fishing line finally hitting the water. “Hey, wait up!” With a little runaway jump Ash too dives feet-first into the reflections of the sky – 

– and finds himself floating lazily in _another_ sky, inhabited not with clouds but with lands and islands whose shapes and designs make very little sense if they exist on the world where Ash comes from. However, the Reverse World abides by its own peculiar rules and mastered by a Legendary Pokémon who appears lawless by virtue of its militant approaches, which in most cases are justified, given the tendency for one bad thing or another to befall either the Reverse World or its Earthly twin. 

All in all, though, Giratina is not a bad Pokémon. In fact, it is a _great_ Pokémon, or else this world and the Earthly realm where Ash comes from will be left in an inhospitable catastrophic limbo. 

Said Pokémon is now soaring through the air some distance away, its long, sinuous Origin Forme twisting with admirable grace as it corrals a dark blob of toxic clouds and, with a few whips of its streamers, sends it scattering into nothingness. 

About twenty feet below, an island the size of a football field floats laboriously, tethered to a larger landmass by a worryingly slender rock-bridge. On a grassy knoll of the island is Pikachu, having made his way safely to the nearest ground and is now calling for Ash to do the same. The erratic gravity of this place means that a fall that should have ended a while ago is still happening at a much reduced pace for the Ketchum; half-swimming and half-jogging, Ash redirects his descent in the Pikachu’s rough direction, all the while hoping that there will be no unwarned return to normal gravity while his feet dangle over the empty air. 

A crackling sound in the air calls their attentions back to the portal through which they arrive once Ash has safely touched ground beside Pikachu. Alerted by what must count as an abnormality in this place, Giratina hurries to its vicinity and circles it, its shrieks sounding distinctly worried as the portal ripples strongly. 

There is a brief gold and green flash, and following the light-bursts Arceus emerges from the centre of the distortion. 

_-At ease, Giratina. I am well-aware of the importance of stabilizing a portal,_ Arceus says, its calmness a contrast to Giratina’s restless flight, who subsides following the assurance a little self-consciously. As a matter of fact, the rim of the vortex is now laced with multi-coloured strands of Aura which appears similar to the ones surrounding the portals personally constructed by the Alpha Pokémon; then the current slows, gradually shrinking the aperture until it vanishes altogether. 

“Arceus! Right here!” as he raises his hand and waves frantically. 

_-You could at least be more patient and wait until I am done reinforcing the entryway. BOTH of you._ Arceus snorts as it coasts on invisible ground towards where Ash and Pikachu are standing. 

Pikachu elbows his Trainer’s leg; Ash, maintaining a guilty grin flawlessly, nudges the Pokémon back with his heel with as much discretion as can be expected when standing in an open field. 

_-I would have done it myself if I’ve realized you would be here too,_ Giratina supplies, much to Ash’s surprise who hears the Renegade’s mind-voice for the first time. Like the rest of its brethren, it possesses a very distinguishable voice, this one being equal parts smooth and raspy – in short, surprisingly seductive, given its notorious reputation and equally imposing stature. 

“Is there anything I can do for you?” 

Ash realizes that the figure of Newton Graceland is nowhere to be found. The last he heard of the scientist, he was away attending discussions with Prof. Carolina while waiting his body to recover fully and enable safe passage into the Distortion World. He conveys this to Giratina in case this is what it seeks, adding that he is expected to be up and running around the place very, very soon. 

_-Doubtlessly. Strange man; he rather spends his time here than on the other side,_ the Renegade replies with a touch of amusement not unlike Arceus, though far less noticeable than the Alpha’s display. 

Arceus lands beside Ash as lightly as wind-blown cotton. The Antimatter Pokémon remains hovering above them, apparently deep in thought. The metallic mandibles clack against each other in a cathartic rhythm as it observes its guests. 

_-It feels like only yesterday we first met, and now… you are a part of us._

A shadowy tentacle-wing sweeps forth, indicating Ash, Pikachu and Arceus together in the gesture. Ash blushes automatically once his brain understands the implication. He reaches back and scratches a spot in his hair that itches without rhyme or reason in all of a sudden. Giratina’s face is even less expressive than Arceus, especially in its Origin Forme where the mandibles obscure a large portion of its visage, yet still Ash is able to perceive a sense of knowingness from the Renegade. 

“Um, well… yeah, I guess.” Dialga’s insistent urging to hasten his consummation with Arceus makes him blush more deeply when he recalls it. Surely Giratina does not summon him all the way here to make sure that he has done his part…? 

“We, uh, we’ve done it all the way. In Arceus’ place. Um.” Screw his cheek; it feels like his whole head is on fire. To think, _Gary_ boasted about his first experience like he is the only human with a penis, while Ash feels like it is entirely possible to die from embarrassment-induced high blood pressure. Shuffling from one restless foot to another, Ash struggles with his own traitorous brain which gleefully pulls up memories of the event with terrifying (and delicious) vividness… 

It is unfair, all things considered, that he is so easily flustered while Arceus looks hardly affected, save for the soft distracted snorts. 

_-A gift to the Young Master,_ Giratina announces suddenly and brings all of its streamers forward. Where the red tips converge, a glistening darkness forms, firstly as irregular smoke crackling with miniature lightning – if lightning can possibly come in black – before compacting itself into a thumb-sized object with the solidness of a rock. 

In fact, it is a mineral of some sort, which Ash discovers when the object is brought floating in front of his face, awaiting his acceptance. It drops into his palms when he cups his hands under it, where it lays warm and smooth to his touch: A cabochon of rich dark brown, the colour between burnt caramel and mahogany. Bands of blue-green blaze across its surface that, even as he watches, turns into a striking golden hue and stays resolutely that colour thereafter. 

_-Balance in duality,_ it says as Ash turns the stone over in his palm, which brings the streaks flashing dynamically across its surface, dancing like the gleam of feline’s eyes when exposed to light, _-Clarity and vigilance; enhancement and protection. From the venom of a snake comes its own cure, if properly treated. This, too, is the antidote of the world’s poison. Not all of the toxic clouds in the Distortion World yields it upon cleansing, but when it does, it is a rare and beneficial artefact._

Pikachu scuttles up to his typical place at Ash’s shoulder and joins his Trainer in his observation of the gemstone. It is inarguably beautiful. It is also very powerful in an unassuming way, if Ash closes his eyes and concentrate – the warmth is similar but still more than just natural heating of the sun, and in the Reverse World its light is insignificant. Even now, he can feel its quiet power flowing into him through the contact with his skin. 

In a way, the gemstone is a true embodiment of Giratina’s tireless protection over the Reverse World and its Earth-twin. It feels sacred to touch, let alone to be handed to him as a present. 

“Are you sure you want me to have it?” 

_-No human is more deserving of it than you._

Arceus slinks up closer to him and lowers its head. Ash readily opens his hand for its inspection, which consists of staring and a round or two of gentle nosing. To his relief, Arceus does not show signs of agitation towards Giratina’s gift, but rather more impressed than anything. 

_-I see. Purified of the Intruders’ scarring, if I am not mistaken?_

Ash has been told beforehand that among the many names given to the joint entity of Cyrus and Shadow of Hoopa, Giratina chooses to address it as the Intruders, owing to its status and consequent damages it wreaked on the Distortion World. Ash is reflexively alarmed at this piece of information but the Original One’s equanimity is enough reassurance that he is in no danger whatsoever. To Arceus’ inquiry, Giratina responds with a satisfied and triumphant nod. 

_-A powerful talisman. I rarely see a Legend’s craftsmanship since the construction of the Creation Orbs._ Arceus nuzzles his fingers and encourages his holding on to it, which he does. Indeed, the stone exudes a sensation of stark contrast to the ghost’s depressive and draining influence: the benevolent antithesis to the ghost’s wickedness, borne of the essence of Giratina’s Guardianship over its domain. 

“Thanks a lot, Giratina.” 

The Renegade flicks a streamer in a gesture recognizable to the dismissive wave of hand. _-It is an appropriate time as any to celebrate the Union._

_-A… wedding gift,_ Arceus clarifies in response to Ash’s blank look, barely able to keep its amusement from its voice as his face remembers back how to be embarrassed. 

Pikachu is just straight-up laughing at his expense. 

_-I thank you as well; this is a most invaluable present you could have bestowed to him,_ Arceus swiftly adds to spare the Ketchum from lingering in his awkwardness longer than necessary. With more subtlety that is creditable to a person of Arceus’ size, the Alpha Legend nevertheless manoeuvres itself to brush its hoof against Ash’s calf, similar to someone touching the other’s hand for giving comfort. Still blushing, Ash manages to avoid more damage to his already compromised poise by busying himself with the stowing of the rock into an unoccupied Pokéball. This he clips to his belt a little apart from the rest of the balls which contain Pokémon in them. 

_“Pika-pika chu!”_ the Pokémon says in agreement, having just managed to bring his laughing under control. 

_-I’ll take you back to the exact place where you came from,_ Giratina says, apparently unaware the cause of Ash’s embarrassment altogether. It eyes the endless ceiling of the world flowing with colours and chooses a spot that, to Ash’s eye, is no different than any other. 

Meanwhile, as Giratina unleashes a windstream that coaxes the fabric of the Distortion World into forming an exit portal, Arceus readies itself for its role. Expecting that Arceus will lower itself to ease his passage, Ash tries to scramble up the Alpha’s leg the way Pikachu effortlessly does but soon discovers that he barely needs to do anything. The purple manipulative aura encircles him, lifts him up and places him in the valley of its withers where Pikachu sits waiting. He smiles and pets Arceus thankfully on one of its neck-spike, then shifts his grasps to the fur in front of him with the ease of familiarity. Ash trusts Arceus not to let him fall, but leaving his hands unoccupied makes him uneasily conscious of the limbs and their lack of uses. 

_-No humans,_ Giratina says as it observes into an eddy that is the beginning of a portal, a modest rippling effect sizing no bigger than Ash. It spends a few more seconds at this before deciding that all is well; the Renegade’s roar unleashes another gust that blows open the portal into a more Legend-friendly dimension. 

This is the needed cue for Arceus who sails upward in a galloping motion that, in Ash’s opinion, does not quite conform to the speed it is making. The protective sphere keeps him and Pikachu anchored in place throughout the ascent. As they pass Giratina, who hovers beside the portal like a dutiful gatekeeper that it is, Arceus gives both acknowledgement and thanks in a single nod, while Ash and Pikachu resort to a more Ketchum-esque approach and wave at the serpentine Legend heartily. 

“See ya, Giratina!” 

_“Pika-pi!”_

There is a slight kick of the hind legs and Arceus lurches forward into the centre of the swirling colours. Instinctively Ash closes his eyes and holds his breaths through the momentary sensation of being doused front-to-back with cold water, though without the wetness itself. Gravity seems to be confused as to what direction it should pull for half a second and makes it decision as soon as Arceus’ movement ceases. Kanto’s forest-edge that Ash knows since childhood meets his sight when he re-opens his eyes; behind Arceus, laying unassumingly among the dewed grasses, is the rain-puddle whose only hint to being a temporary world-bridging gateway is a diminishing ripple in the centre. 

“Well, that’s one hell of a morning stroll, don’t you think?” 

_-It is not within normal expectation, l must admit._ Arceus pauses to scrutiny their environment more closely. Giratina without doubt is vigilant, but Arceus’ innate cautiousness is as difficult to shake off as its protective tendency. 

“Um, Arceus?” 

_-Yes?_

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it but… wedding gift –” He coughs a little, “– I thought Pokémon don’t even do, uh, wedding?” 

_-We do not. I was only making an approximation to human culture._

Ash stirs unconsciously. He knows that the courtship and the mating constitutes marriage in most Pokémon’s cultural understanding. Some of them may not even have lasting enough relationship; it is actually more fitting to think of as one-night stands. Ash is just wondering if there are change of rules when it comes to Legendary Pokémon, who generally occupy the other end of the scale when it comes to commitment. 

“Oh. I just thought it’s… strange.” 

_-According to our norms, it is indeed strange. Gifts are usually reserved for courtships, but there are of course exceptions. Giratina especially has little concerns for the perceived meaning behind a gesture; it simply does what it feels right._

“So, you’re saying that Giratina suddenly feels like a wedding gift is appropriate?” 

_-Oh, I would not know about ‘suddenly’. For your service to the Reverse World, you already have a rather glowing reputation with Giratina. Perhaps it has been considering some form of reciprocation; this will only be an excuse to accomplish it._

Arceus spares a few seconds to nuzzle Ash, who giggles as its breaths tickle his neck warmly. 

“I’m not the only one, though. There were my friends – and there’s Prof. Graceland and Shieldon too…” 

_-That is entirely within Giratina’s verdict. Although, the fact that this… Graceland is allowed safe passage and sanctuary into the Reverse World speaks volume of his standing in Giratina’s opinion._

“Fair enough.” 

Ash, for one, is not seeking to question a kindness – especially if done out of a Legendary Pokémon’s mystifying reasoning – beyond satisfying his basic curiosity. More so than the rest of its Legendary cohorts, Giratina acts on whims most people will have trouble comprehending. Sure, you get the general picture, but the details are harder to pinpoint and may just mostly point to ‘because I feel like it’. 

Certainly Ash is not one to complain. He, after all, has a Legendary Pokémon who suddenly decides that a human will make a good life-partner… 

He reaches forward; scratches the smooth side of the neck gently, returning the nuzzling he just receives a few seconds ago. 

“You still up for a walk?” 

He can practically hear the smirk in its voice when it replies, _-An excuse to spend more time with you? Why yes, of course._

Instead of setting him down and continue said walk on his own, Arceus keeps him seated on its back as it floats along the forest-trail. Ash opens his mouth to say something about this – After all, it does start as what Ash intended to be a morning jog until Arceus expresses its desire to accompany him, which then automatically erases any component of jogging from Ash’s mind. Admittedly he is never much of a jogging kind of guy, but he has thought that some exercises will do him good after nearly a month of general do-nothingness. 

When saying so to Delia before leaving the house, she has given him such a shrewd look, Ash feels like pulling at his collar and hyperventilating out of the blue. He still does not understand what that is all about. 

However, as of the moment, his intention to question his riding of Arceus is interrupted by Pikachu’s paws on his hand. The Electric Mouse gives a wink and a general look that says, _‘Let’s just let Arceus enjoy the moment,’_ which Ash finds himself unable to argue against. The Creation Legend exudes a sense of peacefulness that will be a shame to disturb. In fact, it even feels wrong to talk, as much as he loves to chat with Arceus and whatever pointless subject that happens to come across his brain. The silence is too precious and fragile for his voice to mess with it. He settles finally with a hug to the back of Arceus’ neck, which earns him a surprised grunt for the sudden gesture and a low, smoky humming for the stroking to whichever part his fingers happen to lay on. 

A change in direction is what finally alerts the Ketchum that something has attracted the Original One’s attention. There is neither urgency in the movement nor a warning, so it cannot be appearances of other people, which is uncommon in the first place in this part of Kanto. Arceus’ heightened perceptions make it all the more difficult for outsiders to catch the Legend off-guard, so Ash crosses that off the list of possible reasons. From where he sits he tries to take a peek, but beyond the immediate bulk of Arceus’ neck he sees only the sparse trees at the fringe of the forest and the grassy field that replaces the rest of the landscape. The sky is blue, sunny with just the right amount of clouds, and generally free of anything looking like a trouble. 

Arceus stops and says, _-Now that is… fascinating._

Still failing to see what Arceus is talking about, Ash follows its apparent line of sight downward, to something that lays a few feet in front of it. 

A glint of dew sparkles in the morning sun from what seems to be a lonely growing stem, cupped by a couple of striated green leaves; the gently curved, slender stalk bears a number of bell-shaped white flowers. 

“…Arceus?” 

_-Quite late in the season, don’t you think?_

It is a lily of the valley, inasmuch as his limited botanical know-how can tell. It is his mother who is the expert in this sort of thing; the knowledge inevitably trickles to him but those are merely tiny little drops that Ash is not inclined to say himself informed to any degree in this field. For a start, he has absolutely no idea what time of year the various plants come into their flowering seasons to give a credible opinion on Arceus’ inquiry. 

“You like flowers?” 

_-I take interest in many things, Ash._

Which, Ash has come to understand, is Arceus’ rather cryptic way of saying that it is not the same kind of interest as, say, Ash’s singular attraction to Pokémon battles. It is more of a general feeling like its fondness for humans and Pokémon inhabiting the world, or other aspects of the Earthly Realm that keeps it coming back. Still, the fact that the Original One is lured to this lone flowering plant is of some interest… 

“Well, yeah. But I’m gonna guess that this is your fave.” 

_-They do have a sort of charm to them. For many, its poison is overlooked just so its beauty and fragrance can be admired._

Even with his amateurish eyes, Ash can agree with the statement. There is a certain delicate beauty to it, graceful yet resilient in its lone blooming in a field of plain grasses. It is of no wonder that he should see them from time to time in a flower bouquet, small in size yet possessing allure of its own even when placed among larger, more conspicuous blossoms like roses and tulips. Ash is curious what messages they may convey, recalling the gifts of Gracidea flowers as a sign of thankfulness in special occasions. 

For someone who ‘takes interest in many things’, Arceus likely knows the meaning behind every types of flowers people give to each other, for every colour and in every occasion, probably to the point of being able to compose an elaborate message just by choosing the appropriate ones to include in its bouquet. He does not put it past Arceus to be so diligent once it finds a subject of interest to pursue. However, Ash’s initial intention to ask about Arceus’ apparent interest in this seemingly humble flower backs off from the tip of his tongue, from respect and his fascination in the silence which Arceus is now in. He is used to the rush of adrenaline in Pokémon battles, in the urgency that calls for immediate actions that frequently plagues his accidental adventures, in the hectic atmosphere of cities and towns all over the regions; by contrast, it always strikes him whenever Arceus lapses into its quiet moments that, miraculously, still feels like it includes him in some way. 

Finally, the Original One deems it right to break the swelling silence few minutes later. _-Ash?_

“Yeah?” 

_-Do you wish for a wedding?_

“I – what?” 

Images of a white altar and long isle fill his mind. Smartly-dressed guests sit primly on the rows of chairs overlooking the platform, their chattering voices a constant background humming. White appears to be the colour of choice as a theme – white streamers, white ribbons and of course, white roses decorate every available surfaces, nooks and crannies in the venue. A faceless bridegroom in black suit stands in waiting at the altar, accompanied by a similarly faceless best man. The bride is nowhere to be seen as of yet, accounting for the anticipatory air of the guests and nervous groom alike… 

It is a wedding scene his brain plucks straight from a commercial, Ash suspects. There is a tone of impersonality to it, no sense of comfort that he can associate with himself. 

He looks down at Pikachu curled between his straddling legs, but the Pokémon gives a shrug as confused as his current feeling is. 

“Not… my kind of scene, actually.” He scratches his head thoughtfully, trying to grasp onto some semblance of stability in the sudden broach of subject. “What gives, Arceus?” 

_-A simple curiosity. It is customary to undertake wedding ceremony to officialise marriage for humans, is it not?_

“Yeah, but – between you and me, wedding doesn’t seem like a choice.” 

_-It will be unusual for me, but I can adapt. And I can take on a human disguise for the occasion._

Arceus does not sound particularly excited about the whole thing, so Ash doubts that the suggestion of a wedding ceremony is something it expressly wishes to happen. Rather, it talks with a touch of inquiry for his sake, but that is also puzzling since it never seems to bother the Legend before this. 

“Come on now, Arceus. What makes you think I’d like myself a wedding?” Ash has not been to wedding ceremonies before, only watching it from afar. The best parallels he can derive his experiences from may be from the fancier competition events like the Wallace Cup and Battle Chateau; and weddings are as far from Pokémon battles as an event can be. 

_-I am only hazarding a guess, Ash. I thought perhaps, you would like some form of proclamation of your… status._

This is a serious discussion, which Ash recognizes, but it is also an opportunity that is too tempting to pass up, which he is more than ready to exploit. 

“Arceus, are you jealous people will be hitting on me or what?” 

A chance to tease Arceus is not a chance he will ignore; not after all the embarrassment that he has to endure in front of Giratina. Whether or not this is a bad idea is a consideration for the future rather than now. 

_-On the contrary,_ Arceus hisses, a sound that falls somewhere between frustration and dull acceptance, _-I am merely thinking that you may wish for a semblance of human marriage, after all that you have done to oblige me._

The Original One, aloof and proud and generally stoic, is overwhelmingly charming when he manages to break its normal composure. The Ketchum feels like he is entitled to a little harmless vanity in being able to achieve (or even being allowed to attempt) a certain degree of vulnerability on Arceus’ part, and suffers no worse consequence than a show of scolding. Of course there is limit to it – one does not deliberately invoke the wrath of one’s spouse even when the party is a human. 

“Serious talk though – that’s going to open a whole can of worms I’m not too keen to touch.” He holds up his hand and counts off the list with each finger. “People will be asking who you are; where you come from; where are your families; what you do for work; how and how long we’ve known each other; where are we going to live after this; where we will go for honeymoon…” 

The last threatens to make him blush, but Ash quells down his wayward excitement and focuses on the topic at hand. Pikachu discreetly slinks away from Ash’s lap, settling with an amused shake of the head behind his Trainer. 

“That’s not going into the ‘after wedding’ part. I understand: You can’t always live here with me, but they won’t. There will be questions, more gossips. And it’ll be a field day when they found out that sometimes, I’m seeing a woman and other times, a man…” 

He stops, feeling the shift of his steed. Tension radiates from the powerful muscles under him. Arceus dislikes challenges to its privacy no less than a beast with fangs bared and claws outstretched likes to be cornered. Coupling that with its natural jealousy is as disastrous as it gets, if Arceus has allowed the emotions to take control. 

Which it doesn’t, thank goodness. 

_-A smaller occasion then. Fewer guests. Family and close friends only._

Ash sinks his fingers into the lush fur, unafraid but concerned, using the proof in his presence to calm Arceus. He does not know why it works – most of the time – but if it is of any help to Arceus he will not question it. 

“Or, you know, maybe we shouldn’t do it at all.” Arceus may feel like he needs it for the sake of tradition, but in truth, it is futile. He consents to being ‘married’ to the Original One – trying to gloss it over with normality does not change the fact, or that he is happy with his decision. “Too much of a hassle,” he says finally, summarizing his thoughts. 

Arceus’ quietness is discouraging. 

“I don’t want too many people knowing about us. Some of my friends, maybe Prof. Oak… a wedding will be overkill. There are other ways.” His fingers dance in the fur, stroking and grasping, random rhythms that never quite eases into dull routine. It reminds Arceus that he is there, small but not to be ignored. “The others… I’d rather people think I’m a single guy who is too busy with Pokémon battles to get a date.” 

_-If you say so… but my offer still stands, should you feel otherwise,_ Arceus says with the slightest tinge of relief. Ash finds that he is easily sharing the sentiment, who is fine with meeting new people and making friends but balk at the prospect of small talks and enforced formality. Ash is not afraid of public appearances. He has made them numerous times – being involved in Pokémon tournament come packaged with the requirement. 

This time, Arceus’ quietness is welcomed and serene, like the small space between inhale and exhale. Ash grasps at the fur tighter, saying his wordless appreciation. 

_-I am sorry I cannot always remain with you,_ it says suddenly, regretfully. It lances through the inside of his chest – his own feelings or Arceus’, it does not matter. It is one and the same. 

“We’ll make do, Arceus.” 

Arceus’ neck bends in that painful-looking curve that never fails to make him flinch, but the brush of gold-clad forehead against his head is warm and delightful. 

_-As I have said: You sacrifice so many things to be with me._

“Speak for yourself.” He needs only to twist his head a little, and he does, placing his cheek against Arceus’ face. He brings up his hand to the green circle under its eye and massages its outline. 

First and foremost, Arceus has informed him in no uncertain terms that it does not have the capacity to tolerate polygamy, let alone an open relationship – if Ash agrees to be bonded to it, he will have the one and only spouse in Arceus. No matter what he wishes out of their relationship, Arceus will be the one to provide for him: Companionship and support, material wealth (but Ash has frowned and promptly shot down the notion of it, unsettled by the vague feel of materialism to it), sexual fulfilment (Ash yelped and coughed uncontrollably at this), even, when the time should come, an heir… 

When mentioned the prospect of his sacrifice of a normal human marriage should he favour Arceus, he returned with a question of his own: 

_I’m a human, Arceus, he has said, I wouldn’t be with you forever. I don’t live as long as you… How about you then?_

Arceus, eyes dimmed in long-practised resignation, replied, _Then I will have what I can have, for as long as I may._

Legends are innately possessive, true, but greed matters less to motivate this inclination than the fear in the pain of separation, in the yearning without the means to quench it. Sometimes – actually, most of the time – Ash feels like he is being selfish for accepting its proposal… 

When it said it expects exclusivity, it holds truer for Arceus than it is for Ash, he realizes it now. It is not only before he gives Arceus his agreement; the Legend even implies that should he finds himself regretting his choice and wishes instead for a human spouse, Arceus will not deter him on one condition – that he should make known this decision and set it free to live out the rest of its existence rather than compete for his affection. Promptly, he has demanded Arceus to stop right there and then – a divorce by choice is something he will never ever contemplate. When he finally makes a decision, he will damn well stick with it, which was why he has been so grateful when Arceus allowed him as much time as needed to reach his conclusion. 

_Do not pity the future,_ Arceus has said, with the look of someone who has seen the end and had the time to make peace with it, _You are not responsible for my choices, only your own. Ask your heart’s desire, and give me an answer._

With much difficulty, Ash pulls himself together and grounds himself in the present, in the warmth of the Legend who is with him rather than his memories of it. He searches with his fingers, feels the subtle change in the texture of the fur under his touch and follows with his lips. Arceus pauses, a questioning noise in its throat, and tentatively opens its mouth; a warm tongue brushes his cheek uncertainly. 

“When do you have to go again…?” 

Since its latest return, Arceus has not yet left Earth to attend to its celestial duties, instead choosing to stay by his side and mostly adopting the womanly guise in which Ash’s mother is first introduced to it, except during the night when it reverts back to its scaled-down beast-form. Ash suspects that it is for Delia’s comfort to familiarize her with Arceus’ presence until such time comes when she will be equally at ease with its masculine form. This morning, its return to its original size and shape only commences once they are far away from people and the inherent possibility of being spied upon – the first time in about a week since the incident with Dawn. 

For Ash, he is simply happy to have Arceus around, in whatever body it chooses to be in. But he knows that such things do not last for long, and he begins to expect their parting with restless inevitability. Unfortunately, Arceus’ guilty silence answers it amply and it is not an answer that he likes. 

“Come on, Arceus. Today? Really?” 

_-…I will not be long._

“You always said that.” 

_-And I always return, do I not?_

He is halfway tempted to retaliate. A week of Arceus’ company to two weeks of absence is hardly a fair arrangement. Arceus’ ears twitch minutely; it is easily missed if Ash has not been staring at the Pokémon’s face with only the obligatory blinks to break eye contact. The sight creates a warm coiling feeling that settles in the bottom of his lungs, realizing with a rush of excitement that Arceus is hoping for his blessing. It is not needed and nothing can truly stop the Original One from its intention, but the simplest things like having his approval appreciated make him unreasonably giddy. 

_-I promise,_ Arceus says quickly; in its throat, its physical voice-box emits a sound not too far from a whimper. _-It will be only for a few days. As soon as I can, I will return to you._

He is being clingy, that’s what happening. He promises himself not to be like this before, he shouldn’t fall for it now. As much as he likes the idea of Arceus staying around, as exciting as it is to get the Legend waiting for his say, he cannot enjoy them properly when he knows that there are matters that need Arceus’ management, whatever they may be. It is not his right to keep Arceus to himself, or hinder the Legendary Pokémon from its normal line of duties. 

“You’ll be back.” A statement, not a question. 

_-As soon as I can,_ it says solemnly. Arceus retreats momentarily to give its neck respite from the bending. Ash notes with not a little uneasiness that Arceus has refused to do so until it has him reassured. Curiously though, Arceus’ eyes are now directed at his waist with considerable interest – and not the kind that people will describe as ‘hot’ and ‘smouldering’. 

In fact, Arceus looks intensely thoughtful. 

_-Ash, if I may… will you be willing to lend me that stone?_

“Um, yeah. Okay,” he says after a pause and fumbles around to unclip the Pokéball which he uses as a makeshift storage. 

However, Arceus reads the moments’ silence as efficiently as Ash telling it outright. _-There is nothing wrong with it, nor do I doubt Giratina’s intention. I am simply… inspired._

“Arceus, you know you’ve just made it sound ten times more worrying.” Nevertheless, he holds out the retrieved stone in his opened palm, grinning at the sheepishness he coaxes out from the Original One who accepts the offering with a newly-formed tactile aura. “What you have in mind?” 

_-I rather not tell. It will be embarrassing if it does not work out._

“Oh, you’re winging it? That’s new.” Ash chuckles at the huffs the Alpha gives him in return, who decides that a reply will only encourage Ash to more teases. 

Arceus holds the gemstone in front of its eyes, examining the smooth roundness and the flashes of the golden bands across it. 

_-Giratina truly has a talent for this. How it fits you; enhances your natural strengths, harmonize the discordance…_

The aura turns bluish in the immediate vicinity of the stone, creating an illusion of a glow of its own in the otherwise mauve aura. The gemstone itself is brought to Arceus’ golden wheel where another cerulean eruption from the metal engulfs Giratina’s gift in near-opaque blue. When all of the auras dissipate, the banded gemstone is nowhere to be seen with the only hint remaining being the slight fiery tinge to one of the emerald-like gems adorning the ends of the wheel-spokes. 

Ash has seen the Legend procuring objects out of nowhere before, but this is the first time he sees it in reverse. “You know, that’s really handy.” 

_-Don’t you dare,_ Arceus snorts, loud and strident and not a little troubled, _-What I can store as such is very limited. Normal objects will not survive the process, and my body tends to absorb what is not destroyed as energy sources._

“I wouldn’t dare,” Ash agrees but laughing as well at the absurdity of it. It never even crosses his mind until it is mentioned to him. The Dragon Trio, the Lake Guardians, all the Legends… hell, even the Pokémon Professors will beat him within an inch of his life for the blasphemy of making the Original One the equivalent of a pack mule. He plants a quick kiss to the lower left neck-spike, feeling the unsatisfying texture of hard bones meeting his lips than the strange but warm yields of its mouth, but contents himself for the contact. 

“You are too precious for that.” He pauses, and laughs again. That sounds so _cheesy,_ but that is what his mind comes up on the spot, honest and unembellished. Best not to argue with his sub-consciousness despite the heat pouring into his cheeks and ears. 

_-I do insist that you are capable of such sweet talking when put into it,_ Arceus grumbles, but something felt in Ash’s chest tells him that the annoyance is superficial. It happens with more frequency lately, how there seems to be occasional bursts in his chest that feels like an insight to the heart as ideas are to the mind. 

He likes these feelings, if a little odd. At least he can get even with Arceus’ mood-reading sometimes. 

“I wouldn’t bet on it. If I really know how to talk, I could get you to stay for another day or two.” 

_-You already have my word, Ash. You will not even feel my absence._

_Wrong,_ the same odd twinge in his chest says, resonating with sentiments that comes from himself and intertwining with those that sprouts from Arceus no less strongly. It is more potent than memories, less absolute than speech, gentle yet irrefutable as it courses between them. He hears the sighs from Arceus, and feels his own lips quirking up in a smile. 

It is, he decides, a little like saying _I love you_ all the time, and you keep hearing it long after you are done with the speaking – and that is more than fine with him.


	30. Epiloge II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For them, life is only beginning...

The project is a success, Arceus can proudly tell. 

Getting the others to cooperate is also surprisingly easy, although on a second thought, there should not be any objection to begin with. Before anything is remotely done to it, Arceus has asked for Giratina’s approval to the inevitable tinkering; the answer amounts to roughly _‘it belongs to Ash now, I am fine if he is’_ and proceeds without further fusses to do as has been suggested, knowing that it will not be with Arceus in the first place had Ash not consented to it. Palkia is its usual cheery self as it announces its agreement while Dialga needs a little coaxing, seeing that Legend-crafted object can be abused in the wrong hands or even harmful when underestimated by unsuspecting allies. However, it is only caution as befitting the Guardian of Time and not an outright opposition, so in the end that works out quite nicely too after with Arceus’ reassurances. The Lake Guardians practically jumping in at the opportunity to contribute, is a given. The rest is Arceus’ part to play, which consumes the better part of its leave, and now it finds itself quite satisfied with the result. 

Now comes the part where the Alpha Legend hopes its result will be similarly accepted by its intended recipient. 

The Hall of Origin is a long way away from the Earthly Realm, but the Creation Legends – and the Lake Guardians also – share the abilities to make their journeys immensely shorter via their dimensional portals. Still, Arceus feels it goes on a tad too long than it should as it gallops along the luminescent tunnel bridging the two dimensions in contrast to prior experiences, which have felt like no time at all. Patience and stability that Arceus has built so successfully are corroded little by little by its precious human mate, like mountain whose inside is tunnelled through by hungry Lairon. 

Closer to the exit, Arceus uses both its bond and inhuman senses to scan for Ash’s whereabouts. The latter draws something, but is mostly unhelpful until it formally arrives at its destination, while the former beats with assurance of his life somewhere in the Kanto area. Without Ash around (or even a subject to listen to its Ash-centred discussion), Arceus is not prone to emoting as much as usual, and the frown happens internally, unseen, but the puzzlement remains. Prior, it has clarified that Ash should not have any deleterious effects to leave his family home since he has not shown any signs of amnesia beyond what is expected – the near-loss at the Edge of Dreams is an experience any living being can do without – and the daydreaming occurs less frequently with time. Furthermore, the sleep-talking Pikachu has warned it about is replaced with peaceful snores when Arceus accompanies him during the night, when it can claim a minute freedom to transform back into its downsized beastly form after a day’s worth of human disguise. 

Arceus loves to watch him sleep, mainly because how calm the young man looks. The cheerful, passionate day-time Ash is fine and all, but to see this side of him is delightful as well – plus, sleeping is not something it does very regularly itself. Although it was doubtful about the decency of sharing a room in Ash’s family home, Delia has insisted that it was _‘how it should be done’_ and, upon discovering that the Legend meant to stay in its four-legged form during the night, has dragged inside a spare mattress to be laid beside Ash’s bed, seeing that it could not accommodate both the Ketchum and Arceus without the risks of the furniture breaking. The Alpha would enter a meditative state afterwards which substitutes rests as sleep rejuvenates a human, but its senses remained alert for any changes on the Ketchum. More often than not though, it was brought out of its meditation not by restless shifting but by the Ketchum’s body instinctively finding Arceus even in his sleep. Sometimes, it was only a hand brushing its forehead or neck, which was usually laid on the side of Ash’s unoccupied bed; other times, Ash rolled the entire breadth of his bed to snuggle against the Legend, who could scarcely return to its own rest after that. 

What remained of a Legend’s vanity in Arceus scoffed at the bedroom it shared, at the meagre bedding compared to the bed in its Palace of Origin, at the fact that Arceus was allowing a human to curl against its head like it was a pet; all arguments that were stomped underfoot by a simple _Ash is my mate, and this is his life._ Ash himself repeatedly expressed these same concerns during its stay, but Arceus dodged these with the same convincement as it used on itself. 

Ash has smiled. It was genuine, Arceus could tell, but it was also a little wistful. It chose not to pry further out of respect of his privacy, and curled up beside the lovely boy and enjoyed the patting on its flank. 

It lets out a sigh at the memory and hopes to feel the touch of his small hands again. Arceus has long been resigned to Ash filling its mind for quite some time after each and every departure from Earth; it is no use to push it back, because it is like water. It seeps through the tiniest cracks and fills the remotest emptiness. And to deny is just insulting for it will not make a mate out of someone who fails to capture its interest so singularly. It feels almost like a mating heat, except it is… not. It is less demanding and desires little, but at the same time it aches all the same, deeper than the surface-agony of unquenched lust but kinder in its persistence. Never mind that they have not yet touched each other seriously since their leaving of the Hall of Origin; sex, while pleasant, is not all there is to it, and right now Arceus will be content to simply be near the beloved human. 

Arceus mind searches for the power within itself, willing the gateway to spring into existence in front of it. Unlike Sinnoh, very few locations in Kanto can afford a portal strong enough to withstand the emergence of more than one high-tiered Legend. The glade in the forest is a lucky find when Arceus began to see the Ketchum, being able to bear Arceus’ emergence while still within accessible distance to Ash and being secluded to boot, and so that is where Arceus directs the opening of its exit-portal. As the rays of Earth’s daylight begins to pierce through the budding opening, Arceus commences with its transformation into its humanly disguise. It is difficult to manage two things of such scale at once but Arceus is learning, and learns fast. By the time Arceus drops out of the portal, it is already a she – a tall, black-haired, fair-skinned woman; simple everyday garb, the flank-wheel shrunken and made into a pendant hanging on a chain around her neck. 

As she waves the portal close, Arceus frowns in afterthought. Perhaps a male disguise, instead? It has been adopting a feminine form for a while now, it is starting to become dull… but if she happens to go to Ash’s house, Delia has not yet seen Arceus in a male body although she knows the fact. It is Arceus’ choice to keep its human disguise of a consistent sex before her, but now… well, she has seen Arceus changed forms every night during its week-long stay. Perhaps this is simply time to introduce her to this side of Arceus. 

Or perhaps, more fittingly this is a question for another time. 

Arceus’ muted but still powerful senses pinpoints on Ash. Not at his family house but somewhere else. In the town… no. Close enough, still. Arceus concentrates, following the thread that links them together to its other end, grasping for the vibrant Aura that is Ash… 

There. 

Arceus sets off whilst wondering what brings the Ketchum… wherever he is. Admittedly, Arceus can choose to wait for his return at his house but the excitement that saturates its bearing does not like the notion of it. The detailed layout of the town is still unfamiliar to Arceus so she is unsure what in the vicinity that may be of interest. Her inhuman speed cuts short the journey which would have taken a human on foot quite some time. She keeps her senses open for possible passers-by, although in truth she is sprinting with a speed that renders her hardly visible at a first glance; by the time the hypothetical watcher tries to get a second glance, Arceus is already gone, leaving only impressions of flowing hair and white silk in the mind. She slows down once she nears civilization; in the bush near the road leading into the town, she smooths out the rumpled fabric and tucks stray hairs behind her before stepping out to the open road and among the oblivious people, not a hair out of place or a drop of sweat to signal her exertion. 

When Arceus eventually spots Ash from afar, he is with a company: A young man much like Ash himself, though a little taller and with auburn hair instead of Ash’s black mops, partially tamed under his customary cap. Dressed in matching charcoal shirt and trousers, he makes for an interesting contrast to Ash who is clothed in a more outdoors-appropriate set of his usual vest, t-shirt and jeans. Watching the both of them engaged in conversations, Arceus has a momentary déjà vu of spying Ash and that Dawn girl through the windows, chatting blissfully right up until she decides to… 

_Come now, I am better than this!_ Arceus snaps, shaking herself out of her wild musings. Arceus cannot be feeling possessive for every interaction Ash is involved in with anyone who is conceptually a viable candidate of a life-partner, even by the remotest possibility. It speaks very pitifully of Arceus’ character to let itself be consumed so easily. Hence, she decides to choose a place to wait where she can be easily spotted and approached in Ash’s own time rather than barging in on him while he still has businesses to attend to. 

Or at least, that is what she plans anyway, but Ash’s Pikachu has a different idea about it when he catches sight of Arceus’ familiar figure, even if now the Legend appears as a woman. He always has such a good sight, that one. The pulling on Ash’s collar and the vigorous beckoning in her direction seals the deal. 

_Oh, so much for the waiting now,_ and she raises her hand to wave at him, helping him to notice her among the people at the baffled look on his face. 

Ash is forced to squint at first, then wave back with more enthusiasm than she does. For some reason it warms her heart more than she thought it will, seeing that her presence is exciting him as much as it does to her. Arceus has no idea if this friend is among the select few privy to Ash’s relationship with her. She would have acted more freely – perhaps an embrace? It is not too scandalizing as a kiss on the mouth, which is what she actually wants – but the friend coming with him acts as a reminder to keep herself together. Her spirit and soul is that of the Original One, the Alpha Legend, the Master of Lake Guardians and the Creation Trio; her disguise is a woman, clothed finely and with the look of a noble breed… she better not starts acting unbecoming of her stature and fawn mindlessly like a creature in the middle of a mating season. 

Right now, Arceus is working to arrange a smile on her face as the two men come nearer. She is careful to keep her expression friendly without coming off as inappropriate. Inappropriately excited, that is. It may have been two days for Ash on Earth, but working alone in its Hall of Origin, Arceus has manipulated the flow of time in its domain so that it passes much more swiftly than in Earthly Realm. If Arceus has not intervened, if time in the Hall of Origin and Earth is allowed to flow at the same pace… 

A good few of months may have passed here. 

Arceus aches with silent want, hidden behind her genial smile. 

As per his usual routine, as soon as they are within range Pikachu makes a leap for Arceus, slightly knocking Ash back from his momentum, whereupon landing in her arms he starts sniffling her in greeting. Arceus lets out a laugh, tickled by his nose and his moist breaths in the crook of her shoulder and neck and – 

Ash is in front of her, mouth pulled wide in a grin and brown eyes sparkling delightedly. Arceus’ own breath catches in her throat and with it, her laughter. 

Then she feels his hands on her shoulder but before he can pull her to him, Ash stops suddenly, sheepishly. As always his rational mind lags several seconds behind his body – and hugging, which is what he must have intended, becomes slightly questionable with the company of Ash’s friend. Arceus will have none of this and pulls _him_ to _her,_ one arm thrown across his shoulder and the other cupping the small of his back. Muffled sounds of shock and protests quickly devolve into unintelligible mumbling which Arceus makes no effort to understand once she feels her gesture is similarly answered. Pikachu is smart enough to get out of the way of Ash’s fumbling and avoiding himself from becoming an obstacle to Ash’s circling arms, the twinkle in his eyes saying mischief that makes even Arceus briefly concerned as he prowls around their feet. 

Arceus makes the effort to separate them, deeming that any more seconds spent thus will certainly give off a different vibe than friendly familiarity. Ash has expressed his wish to maintain the image of an unclaimed bachelor; Arceus will not be the one to fail the simple request. 

The man that is with Ash is waiting patiently beside them and, with the embrace concluded, Ash says, “Alice, this is the friend I’ve been talking to you about: Gary Oak. Gary, this is Alice…” 

Ash’s introduction trails off inconclusively as he is caught by the uncertainty on how to address Arceus in front of his friend without revealing their relationship. Fortunately, this is a pause noticeable only to Arceus, whereas Gary considers that the same description given to him also applies to ‘Alice’ and sticks out his hand in an offer of a handshake. Arceus accepts it in her own hand, feeling the strength of a hardworking young man in the limb that is comparable to Ash’s. His dark eyes gleam with a hint of mischievous charm which Ash has bemoaned previously and his broad, quirked smile is understandably attractive in a rebellious sort of way. 

Arceus can see why this Gary Oak can have adoring females attached to his hips and Ash’s inevitable uncertainty around him. 

“Nice to meet you,” he says smoothly. At least he is courteous enough not to assume that he is entitled to an embrace. “You’re a Pokémon Trainer, Miss? You carry yourself like one.” 

What is it exactly with the comments of Arceus-looks-like-a-Trainer? Do Trainers everywhere develop innate sense to detect their kinds over time? Or are there specific appearances that Arceus unconsciously adopt in its disguise? Perhaps it is custom to default to the profession? 

“No, I am more inclined to caretaking.” 

“Excuse me, then. But I stand by my word – You look like someone who’s had a hand in the scene. And being good at it too, I might add.” His smile widens – showing off his neat, impeccable teeth – and looking not the least apologetic for his assumption, true to his words. 

“I have heard the same about you. From Ash, of course.” 

Gary glances at the Ketchum with a curious look, who struggles from showing too much of a dejected look that Arceus can nevertheless sense in his Aura. Arceus suspects that Gary’s chest puffing out is a subconscious reflex that he is used to too much to stop doing anytime soon. 

“Coming from a League Winner that means a lot – but I must admit I’ve not had as much time to train as I’d like. I’ve been busy helping with Pokémon Professors’ researches. Still, I try to keep myself in the game as much as I can… say, do you care for a friendly Pokémon battle?” 

Gary’s Aura is bright green and writhing like wild fire among dried leaves. He has a relentlessness that reminds the Legend of Ash – again – but his flow is more confined and… human-like. Interesting how someone can feel so identical to another, yet… so very different. No wonder Ash is insecure when comparing himself to this Oak boy, but it is a foolish venture. As similar as they feel, Ash and Gary are fundamentally different and manifest themselves in coincidentally analogous traits: Competitive, spirited, brave… 

“I do not carry Pokémon with me, Mr. Oak.” 

“Please, just call me ‘Gary’.” He seems on the verge of offering a solution to this problem but something on Arceus’ face deters him. Arceus is well-pleased that he is also intuitive enough to sense her resoluteness and knows better than to test it. 

Ash steps in at that moment. “You must be pretty tired after the journey. I would’ve cleared my schedule if I’d known my _girlfriend_ will be coming today.” 

Arceus freezes. 

Pikachu stares. 

Ash looks like he is praying for a superpower to rewind the time. 

That must have been a slip of the tongue; Ash’s thoughts are racing and his emotions are too panicky to make it a calculated revelation on his part. Arceus would not have minded it that much if it does not present a new problem: How is Arceus going to follow Ash’s platonic script? 

The answer is obvious: Arceus cannot. Not, at least, without making Ash looks like having a one-sided affection for her. 

There are still standards to uphold, as much as the more bestial part in Arceus supports an unambiguous claim on its mate. Arceus hopes that it is both subtle yet meaningful enough when she announces, “I say, you deserve a surprise once in a while.” 

Ash’s stricken face eases further when Arceus brushes her fingertips against the Ketchum’s knuckles to emphasize her indifference. She would happily devote more time to assure him but Gary, in the brief moments of uncertainty and hence left forgotten, makes himself known with a hearty laugh and a punch to Ash’s shoulder. 

_“Ouch!”_

“Ashy-boy, why didn’t you say so? Took you long enough, huh?” Ignoring Ash’s hisses of pain and his mumbling ( _“don’tcallmeAshyboyIswear”_ ), Gary turns around and two-fingers salutes towards Arceus, his smile having grown further into an alarming smirk, “You should’ve told me sooner, Miss Alice! Don’t let me keep you waiting, in that case!” 

“If you and Ash have matters to discuss still –” 

“Nope, I won’t be in your way any longer,” he says loudly, turning several heads in their direction and is not the least bothered by the attention. Arceus is usually more than happy to admit being Ash’s significant other, but there is too much glee in Gary’s bearings to make her suspicious in the ensuing publicity. 

Ash shrinks into himself further, his azure-blue Aura wrapping close to his outline. Arceus’ instinct flares with unease at the unexpected reaction from the human. 

Satisfied with what he has achieved, Gary throws up his hand in an extravagant wave, exclaiming, “See ya later, Ash!” before going off on his merry way. Ash groans under his breaths, mumbling byes out of habit rather than courtesy and balances it afterwards with curses too muffled for her to make out, although she does have her guesses. It goes on until Gary must have been out of sight of Ash’s humanly sight, until which he takes off his cap to ruffle through his hair and turning it into and unruly mess, sighing loudly all the while. 

“…You mind if we go someplace else?” This is only slightly louder than his previous grumbling. 

As if that needs asking at all… “Of course not. Where do you have in mind?” 

  


*

  


Ash does not have anywhere in mind. 

Ash does not have much else in mind the way of planning, as it turns out. 

The walks serve merely as means to expend the anxious energy in him as they drift from the town to its outskirt to the lonesome road that she presumes will eventually lead to the border of the very same forest from which she comes from, although on a different front. Once in a while, he steals curious glances at Arceus who is grasping his hand warmly, gives her a rather guilty grimace and ducks his head down, hiding himself under the overhanging visor of his cap. It is a peculiar behaviour to be displayed by the Ketchum, whose frame of mind are normally clear for Arceus’ divination. Arceus has hoped that a little privacy will help him out of this strange moods, a hope that steadily withers the longer Ash remains so. 

Perhaps it is a very bad idea to allow the encounter with that Gary Oak; perhaps Arceus will have done much better to wait at his family house after all… 

“Ash, I –” 

“Arceus, I’m so sorry!” 

Ash surprises all of them, Pikachu included, with the sudden blurting. Arceus reflexively connects it to her accidental comparison between this meeting with Dawn’s case, but the context does not appear fitting with his mysterious apologies. Helpless, she asks, “Ash, why should you be sorry?” 

“I didn’t mean to tell that we’re together like that!” 

She understands his desire for secrecy and respects it, even hoping for a little of it except for the notable few like his mother and closest friends, humans and Pokémon alike. Yet, a little breach should not have distressed him so… “That is not at all a problem, is it? You did not reveal to him who I am actually; and a girlfriend is quite normal to have for a young man such as yourself – surely what gossip it may inspire is tolerable…?” 

“You don’t understand!” He says although in tone and volume, he is closer to wailing. “I – I’ve used you!” 

“Ash, what…?” 

“I’ve _used_ you,” he repeats as if putting a different emphasis on the wording will make his meaning any clearer. 

His breath along with the rest of his babbling become stuck in his throat when Arceus’ hand snakes towards him unannounced and take his face in it. The other hand takes off the cap and hands it over to the faithfully waiting but equally confused Pikachu, depriving the Ketchum of a way to hide himself from Arceus’ eyes when she lifts his face by the chin. 

“You are leaving me in the dark here, Ash. Do explain it to me, please?” 

Understandably, Ash still looks troubled despite how gently Arceus words it to him, nibbling on his bottom lips involuntarily until her thumb brushing the corner of his lips relax him a little. 

“… So… I... Um, I’ve talked to you about Gary before…” 

“A few times, yes,” Arceus says by way of encouragement; it is a name which inevitably comes out whenever he wants to make a comparison and reminds Arceus a little of Kyurem, if only because of the competitive impression Ash implies on Gary-centred narrative. 

“I used to have these… rows with him when I was little. It’s really silly – it’s because of a Pokéball, for goodness’ sake – but it took us a long time to fix things up between us. But before we did, everything became a competition. It didn’t matter if it’s just running, fishing, climbing, hell, even eating ice-cream; you name it. It got worse when we became Trainers but he’s always one step ahead of me.” 

_There’s the rivalry,_ Arceus thinks glumly. It is not the first time Ash recounts the history between himself and Gary Oak, and every time he does so Arceus is prickled with uneasy dislike of how diffident it makes Ash feels. 

“But even after we became friends again, I still feel like… I don’t know, like I’ve got to show that I’m as good as him. And when he saw you, I realized that he likes you. He’s straight-up _impressed_ with you. I wasn’t thinking at all – it just came out of my mouth – and I felt like, ‘this is my chance.’” 

“So, you are saying that I am to be paraded to your colleague as a sign of achievement?” 

_“I’m really, really sorry! I didn’t mean to, I swear!”_

“Not everything is subject to competition, Ash,” Arceus says quietly, “and I am not an object to be regarded as little else but a trophy.” 

If Ash is physically able to melt, he would have been a puddle at Arceus’ feet. As it is, he sinks to his knees and prostrates before the Legend-lady – or tries to before Arceus reaches for his elbows and forcefully heaves him back up. The poor thing looks like all of his blood has been drained out of his head, leaving the once hearty, glowing face now pallid with anxiety. His eyes are round and big, but they do not hold his usual cheerfulness that Arceus so loves to see. 

Arceus leans forward and rests her forehead against Ash’s. Their breaths mingle together in the small gap between them, caressing him with her warmth and her with his. 

“As much as you love challenges, and as beneficial as a little pressure to strive for betterment, it will not do if it only brings you harm. You do not need Gary Oak or myself to validate your life. You are your own person, independent and unique. Do not measure your worth by the others, for you cannot be them, nor them you.” 

Even by human’s short-lived lifespan, Ash Ketchum is young. Now, he looks that much younger; like a child who is being scolded and who is now listening intently in the hope that he will not be put in the same position again. 

“I’m sorry, Arceus.” 

Arceus is struck by the frailty in his voice and nuzzles him carefully, bringing the hands which are holding his elbows to his shoulders instead. “It is not me who you should ask forgiveness; it is you. You deserve to be proud of who you are, Ash.” 

This is usually not an issue with Ash, but this Gary seems to be his one exception. For what he does, Ash is a remarkably humble young man but for some reason, he is always prone to humility before his one rival-friend. It pains Arceus that he should hold himself below others, even if he does not recognize it himself and strive to prove otherwise with his constant need to compete against Gary. 

“…I’ll try,” he mumbles and to Arceus’ relief, there seems to be a small twitch of a smile to the corner of his lips. It is humourless but at least he is no longer as enclosed as to wallow in his pity. He grimaces but steels himself to meet Arceus’ eyes squarely, as though doing anything less will be disrespectful. 

“That being said, I do not object to your conceding myself as your life-partner. In fact, I am flattered that you consider me as your pride…” 

“Not a trophy, though.” 

“No,” and Arceus smiles as well as the apologetic grin he gives her, and kisses him softly. At first, he is unmoving but soon the shock and guilt wears off enough for him to return the affection. Her human form is already feeling _containing_ when he begins to mouths her lower lip; an unbecoming growl escapes her when he uses his tongue to trace the path of his teeth. He is not afraid despite his stopping on the delightfully light kisses, for he does so calmly and gradually. 

“I’ve never thought of you like that. It’s just… when Gary showed up, I felt like telling him how lucky I am that I got to be with someone as amazing and gorgeous and handsome as you,” he mutters shyly; his cheeks are dusted with an adorable shade of pink. The frill-less and straightforward compliments are startling to Arceus since he usually speaks his feelings with actions instead. It is a shame that Pikachu decides in that moment to return his cap to his Trainer, which he quickly dons in an attempt to busy himself from Arceus’ gaze. 

On the other hand, it reminds Arceus that she too has something that needs returning to its rightful owner. 

She scans the surroundings to confirm that it is indeed as barren as her eyes suggest. Wandering aimlessly since Gary’s departure, they have apparently reached far enough that the area is devoid of people save for the forest-dwelling beasts and wild Magical Creatures. Moreover, a concealment charm, similar to the one Arceus has cast in its search of the Archean siblings and their Hoopa charge, is not worth the effort since the place is quite secluded as it is. The nature of their environment, the position of the sun and Arceus’ innate navigational sense place them in the fringe of the connecting forest all the way back to the suburbs of Pallet Town, as Arceus initially suspects. She seizes the opportunity to commence with her re-transformation. The broad daylight conceals Arceus in otherwise plain view, so she is not too concerned of being noticed from afar. The results of Arceus’ practices show in the swiftness with which the process is accomplished and the intensity of light that results from it. Though she has little reasons to improve on her transformation techniques before, each trip to visit Ash risks Arceus’ true identity revealed, hence the greater need for secrecy motivating the perfection. 

By the wide-eyed look and the admiration plainly showing on Ash’s face, Arceus assumes that its achievement is approved. That, or maybe he is just surprised that Arceus reverts to its original form unannounced like it normally does. 

_-Please excuse my forwardness,_ Arceus says while activating its flank-wheel with barely a pause from its form-changing, _-but I have been very eager to present to you the fruit of my labours._

Ash’s eyes dart to the wheel which is indeed glowing tellingly. The gems studded in its arms are radiating greenish fire, one of which is brightest and spewing forth fiery tongues that eventually take a solid shape, though to the Ketchum the haze from the flames obscure a clear vision of the object: Giratina’s gift to Ash which Arceus has borrowed and the true reason for Arceus’ abrupt departure previously. It floats lazily in the cradles of Arceus’ tangible, purple-hued aura; when brought in front of Ash, who reflexively presents his opened hands to accept it, it is placed with utmost care and gentleness in the centre of his palms, like a mother putting her newborn baby to sleep. 

Instead of a single cabochon as he expects, the object held in Ash’s hands is a golden ring set with the gemstone that is Giratina’s present, as brilliant and striking as the first time Ash lays his eyes on it. 

_-Legendary handicrafts are very few and far between, for we do not like our works to be wielded by the unworthy, and suitable materials may be hard to come by. One that is tailored for a specific person is even more difficult. Most importantly, it must not oppose the natural traits of one’s Aura, or else the effects will be detrimental to the holder. When I realize how compatible the gem is with you, I also realize that it is an opportunity too valuable to miss. It is a gift long overdue, and I have Giratina to thank for the chance._

“So this is what you meant about ‘being inspired’!” He holds the ring aloft between his forefinger and thumb. It is a simple golden band that nevertheless shines elegantly when it catches sunlight; the gem is no less beautiful with the golden stripes racing across its surface with the tiniest movement. 

_-In others’ hands, it is merely a pretty bauble, but not so with you. The gem retains all of the original qualities mentioned by Giratina – and more. The metal of the ring is a living metal that comes from myself –_

Arceus gestures with a jerk of its head towards its ring-adorned waist of which the golden colour is the exact shade with the ring in Ash’s hand, though Ash’s ring appears smoother and rounder in shape, the obvious size difference notwithstanding. 

Ash’s eyes widen in understanding, reminding unconsciously why Arceus loves to see them: huge and sparkling with liveliness, like windows to his soul. 

_-I asked others for their blessing also: Dialga, Palkia and Giratina for protection so that it may not tarnish through the ages of the world, or if it should endure the harshest of environments in any reality. The blessing from the Lake Guardians shall keep your spirit and mine connected. And I… I am the Originator, from which their powers come. I give it part of myself to bind the will and blessing of the others. I give it a part of myself so you will always have me close by, even when I am out of sight._

Arceus lowers its head to Ash’s cupped palms and taps the golden point of its forehead to the ring gently, even tenderly. _-This ring connects us, through worlds and across time – I as its creator and you as its rightful owner. You have always regretted it that my presence is a chance that you have no control over… but no longer. Whenever and wherever you have needs of me, touch the ring and think of me; I will know, and I will hear you as though you speak to me myself. You are not yet powerful enough to hear me in return, but call me with the power of the ring, and I will heed it. The gem’s inherent attributes and its harmony with you shall protect your voice and enhance it, so that it may reach me unscathed._

Throughout it all, Ash’s mouth opens steadily wider until his jaws hang slack at the end of it. Realizing that he must have looked ridiculous, he clamps his mouth shut and studies the ring even more closely, then looks up at Arceus as if this is the first time he sees the Legend. 

_-…At first, I was conflicted as to what I should craft for you. I thought of something unassuming, but a ring is a traditional gift..._

Arceus does not intend to divulge its insecurity to the Ketchum but words escape its mind and into Ash’s ears with little say on its part. Ash is being rather silent compared to his usual self, though his Aura is not showing any signs of displeasure. All in all, he appears to be simply… overwhelmed. Then, suddenly, the hugest grin breaks out on the boy’s face and Arceus simply cannot see why anyone should favour Gary’s over Ash’s soft and _absolutely radiant_ smile. 

Suddenly, with the ring tightly clasped in one fist, Ash lunges for the Legend’s lowered head and hold on with strength his lithe body defies, hugging it fiercely. The fingers of his free hand dig into the fur at the back of his head, while the ring-holding hand settles with an arm that winds around the other side of its head. That alone is shocking enough, but Arceus’ breaths are stolen away by the kisses that he peppers to wherever corner of its face that he can reach. Seeing that this is hardly the first time Ash has given it a surprise hug, Arceus should be more prepared for his excitement – but the truth it, it can never quite shake itself out of the daze brought by his rough lips and the heartbeats of its mate, steady and strong within the protection of his rib-cages. 

“Arceus, I like it as it is,” he says after he has quite thoroughly covers Arceus’ face with lingering warmth of his lips. His fingers idly play with the ring, though its power of connection reminds dormant to his touch with Arceus already being close by. 

_-I am glad that you approve of it. Please, put it on – I want to see it on you._

“’Approve’? That’s an understatement, Arceus.” He extends his hand with the ring in it towards Arceus, who inclines its head questioningly and earns itself a grin from the young man. “You’ve gone through all that to give it to me, I think it’s fair that you finish the job.” 

For a few seconds Arceus is still confused, but understanding that comes delayed afterwards cause its ears to twitch restlessly. At once, Arceus looses a delicate thread of purple aura, translucent in its fineness, and entwines itself around the offered ring at Ash’s encouraging nod. His hand remains where it is when the ring is taken from him, the fingers spread out meaningfully. It is not an unheard tradition to Arceus – it chooses the form of a ring for its ubiquitous symbolism, after all, and the size in which it is forged is according to the customary finger that wears it. All in all, it is a simple procedure but as Arceus directs its manipulative aura to slip the ring onto the Ketchum’s ring finger, the weight of a thousand meanings seem to accompany the gesture and settle comfortingly in Arceus’ chest as the golden band reaches the root of his digit, the gemstone carefully aligned so that it sits at the top. Despite its relatively brief construction, Arceus has poured its energy, its heart and soul in its making; even its very being is made a part of it, and it is now in contact with him just as its own abdominal wheel encircles its body. 

It glints more merrily on Ash’s finger than it ever does alone. Arceus dissipates its aura and replaces it with its forehead, which it touches to the gem with utmost affection. 

_-You look lovely wearing it, my dearest._

“…Thank you, Arceus. It’s – it’s very… it’s just _perfect,”_ he says finally, settling with a word that can relay his multitudes of feelings without resorting to a review worth of two written pages. Chuckling a little as he strokes the circumference (Arceus supressing its unbecoming sounds all the while, imagining the same hand stroking its body), he says, “There goes my plan to look like a single guy.” 

_-You can still wear it on a chain and hide it under your shirt._

“That’s a disservice, Arceus.” 

_-Then claim it as a charm; for good luck or protection, it does not matter. It is still the truth._

“Except I’ll have to talk about it, which I’m not going to do with every single person I meet on the street.” He giggles again at Arceus’ deflated look and rubs his hand on its cheek soothingly. “I’m kidding, Arceus. They can say whatever; I’m not taking this off.” 

_-I am honoured,_ Arceus says and leans into his palm, humming at the warm skin and the fingertips making abstract shapes in its fur. When the sighs escape Arceus, it does not even realize that the sounds have been waiting at the back of its throat for the momentary slack in its bearing. On the other hand, there is no call for restrain in showing affection here and so its short, whispery sounds become a lazy crooning that, if Ash listens carefully, actually follows a tune of some sort. After all these while, the exertion of its labours finally becomes apparent, now that Arceus is not committed in a pursuit in some sort that can take its mind off its need, as it has been while working on the jewellery. 

“…Arceus?” 

Arceus does not answer with word; just soft humming that nevertheless conveys acknowledgement. His hand and his touch is too comfortable to leave just yet. 

“I guess… I have something to show to you too.” 

That manages to perk up Arceus from its peaceful snuggles. At that moment, Pikachu makes a miraculous reappearance out of nowhere (honestly, where is he while they are absorbed in each other before?) and chirps loudly and excitedly, apparently talking about – 

“Come on, Pikachu! Don’t ruin the surprise!” He scoops Pikachu up from his capering around Arceus’ feet and hugs him tightly, in doing so covering his mouth so his noises are muffled. 

Apparently, something about Ash _'getting the idea out of the blue',_ which covers quite expansive possibilities. 

_“ –chu!”_

“No, nuh-uh! We’re going to do this together, okay?” 

In his arms, the upper portion of Pikachu’s head is just visible to show that it is bobbing in agreement. 

_“Pika-pika?”_

“Alright, truce.” They shake hands in mock solemnity, the Pikachu’s paws looking markedly smaller in Ash’s hand. Releasing the bundle of yellow fur from his hug, Pikachu quickly makes his way to Ash’s shoulder and stands like a soldier on duty, though his waving ears, if they speak the same body language as Arceus, are clearly restless to finish his interrupted clue. 

As for Ash, he fishes around in the numerous pockets hidden under his vest and comes up with a rectangular device whose buttons he fiddles until a light-construct of a screen appears above it. The image it displays appears to be of various lines and curves and dots, differently coloured portions bordering one another in familiar patterns… 

Arceus knows what it is, though being who and what it is means that cartography has little to no use for it. Magical Creatures possess their innate compasses and for Legends like Arceus who roams the vastness of the universe on regular basis, an internalized acute sense of direction is as important as the ability to absorb ambient energy to fuel its life-force and secures its survivability. Still, the Legend is not illiterate – in fact, it is quite proficient at it, even more so than the rest of its kindred – and peering at it for a few moments reveals that it is a rather detailed map of Kanto. Ash taps on the holographic map and the view zooms in on the spot, which Arceus recognizes this time as Pallet Town and its surrounding area. 

A green, flickering dot marks an otherwise unremarkable spot, a good walking distance from the edge of Pallet Town. 

“Do you know where this is?” 

Pulled out of its study by the question, Arceus says, _-I have never been there… or perhaps I did, but only in passing. From where we are, it seems that it will take some time on foot._

“Exactly.” Ash grins widely, his lashes fluttering while wearing an expression that is remarkably close to a Teddiursa Baby Doll-Eyeing. Understanding the hint, Arceus relishes in feigned irritation and bumps his shoulder with enough force to make him stumble a little, but nevertheless sinks on its two front legs as a sign of invitation aboard. 

“You’re a sweetheart, Arceus,” Arceus says through his laughter – ringing, clear and charmingly frank in his delight that makes the Legend’s heart beats a tad faster – and scrambles to his usual spot on its back with the agility of an Ambipom. 

Arceus curses and blesses the warm, comforting and familiar weight making itself at home between its shoulder blades. Are a few months too long of a separation now since they have bonded properly, that Arceus’ body is becoming more perceptive of his presence? For breeding purpose, mating seasons are almost non-existent to Legends compared to mortal Magical Creatures, but there is pining for those who find themselves someone to bond to, especially after an extended parting. It calls from the depth of itself that has been devoted to housing the essence of its significant other. Previously bereft of the young man’s presence and suddenly finding itself in his proximity, it now craves for fulfilment with deep-seated intensity that is honestly unnerving. 

“Do you need to take a look again?” he asks, waving the light-projected map for emphasis while Arceus noses him this way and that, ensuring the placement’s secureness. Pikachu is settling nicely in Ash’s lap, a bright contrast to the Ketchum’s faded blue denims jeans. 

_-No,_ it says, hiding its gratefulness for the brief distraction, _-I already have it memorized._

There is a slim thread winding through the forest on the map, Arceus recalls; a path, likely an unpaved forest trail that scarcely anyone cares about anymore. However, for them it will serve nicely as a shortcut to the other side, where their destination lies. The mouth of it is concealed but not too terribly difficult to locate, and so Arceus sets its course along its remote, twisting length through the forest’s heart. From Pallet Town, it will be a shorter and easier trip but from this side of the woods it is a little more challenging. Still, that is just as well – it means that they are not likely to encounter other people although as per its habit, Arceus’ senses remain on high alert while it glides serenely down the leaves-littered track. Drifting on self-created air current a feet or so above the ground, gaits almost non-existent except for the occasional swing of a leg, Arceus makes for a comfortable ride to its passengers. Being that they are not in a hurry, Arceus immensely enjoys the break from the normal sense of urgency; the sounds of chatting of various random topics conducted in alternating human and Pikachu languages are a comforting addition to the background sounds of the woodland’s denizens, some of whom are brave enough to make a brief appearance to give respect to the Original One’s passage. 

Unfortunately, neither Ash nor Pikachu lets slip of more details on the so-called surprise. Mostly, Pikachu is interested in the newly re-gifted ring which Ash is too happy to show. Words like ‘cool’, ‘brilliant’ and ‘awesome’, among multitude of others used to describe it, settle pleasantly in Arceus’ chest. It is a shame to interrupt his excitement, so Arceus contents itself to wait until they arrive at their destination for his revelation. After a while, their conversation drifts into silence that Arceus assumes as a sign that its passengers are sleeping, although the occasional exclaims of either voice pointing out at passing or curiously peeking critters prove otherwise. 

“Arceus,” Ash says once they are nearing the border of the forest. The journey passes in relative quietness for Ash’s standard, so hearing the first syllable of its name instantly catches its undivided attention. The flicker of its ear towards the Ketchum tells him that he is heard, so he continues, “I just want to say… It’s probably nothing to you. Nothing much, anyway. I don’t get to use charms or magic or anything so… uh, don’t get your hopes up.” 

_-I doubt this will be the case._

“You know what? Maybe we shouldn’t go see it just yet. This is a bad idea. We can come back another time…” 

Arceus does not think that it can possibly be displeased by anything Ash can offer the Legend, but his Aura is alarmingly agitated as it is to risk saying so and have it misconstrued as an expectation – one that Ash is already very worried of disappointing. Instead, it says simply, _-I will be the judge of that. We are already so close so you may as well show me today._

It hears a sound suspiciously like a whimper from its back but no words are said by the Ketchum. Arceus wishes that it can convey better consolation but at this point, the best thing that can ease his mind will be to have his anxiety be over with. It continues on a little more quickly, led on by the memorized map which it imagines over and over to re-confirm its direction as it follows the forest that eventually leads to the edge, where the last line of trees stand sentinel in front of an impression of an open space and a blue, clear sky. 

A vast meadow lays before it when it passes the tree-line, with rolling hills and flat plains alternating across the land. Green grasses that scarcely tickles its hooves, yet would have reached Ash’s mid-shins grow throughout at roughly level height, creating impressions of green carpets being draped upon the land. A more defined yet unpaved trail cuts through the field, running perpendicular to Arceus’ path from the other side of the forest – the map tells Arceus that it connects to Pallet Town and, at a minor branch before this place, one will be led to the base of Mt. Hideaway. It is just as unused though, and no traces of regular human passages can be detected. 

“So, um… do you see that barn over there?” 

Arceus glances back to see where Ash is pointing and follows his direction, where there is indeed a wooden structure sitting squat among the greens of the grasses. As far as it can see, it is the only human-made object for miles around. Without Ash’s prompting, Arceus approaches the barn which, upon closer inspection, is not exactly in ruins as it seems from a distance – and larger as well. It is several times higher than Arceus, wooden boards in generally good shape for something that looks like it has been standing unprotected at the mercy of sun and rain. It can tell that once, the barn was painted in red despite losing almost all of the paint-coat now and having most of it covered in faded flakes. Creeper vines latch on its walls and doors, dark green leaves alternating with the occasional white blossoms. Rudimentary fencing around the lot suggests of a farmyard and the land around it may have been planting fields or grazing patches. It even has a concrete water well with a pitcher pump to help fill in the water troughs, which now stand empty and in some cases, upturned beside the fences. 

_-An accidental find during your morning walks?_ Although it does seem a little out of the way that Ash may simply stumble upon it. Perhaps this is why he is so excited? 

“No, actually… Prof. Oak told me about it.” Prof. Oak, as in the grandfather of the same Gary Oak they have just met. Arceus has never seen the man though Ash has mentioned it a number of times, speaking of him in very high regards and the very reason he ends up with Pikachu as his partner. 

_-Oh? Do tell, my dear._

“I’ve heard about this place before, usually when I help around the Oak lab. It used to be a farmyard, as you can see, but the owners decide to move to other regions. Or maybe there’s just no one to look after it anymore. Anyway, Prof. Oak took over; bought the land and planned to make it a Pokémon sanctuary or a daycare or rehab. But Oak Corral is more enough to handle them all so far, and there’s Pokémon Centres in every town. Plus, he does say that this place a little bit far from the town.” 

An interesting story – Arceus’ natural curiousity does extend to discovering histories of anything from people to places to objects – but it still does not explain why he would deem it as surprise-worthy. 

Ash’s shifting indicates that he is ready to dismount so Arceus takes over and sets him down safely. However, Pikachu, being the swift Electric-type that he is, is already prancing in the grasses by the time the Legend is sprouting its tangible aura to aid Ash’s descent. 

“When you were gone, I got to thinking and this place came back to me. I thought it’ll be worth it. And when I went to Prof. Oak, he told me that he has no use of it now, and he can ask for other Pokémon Professors or Daycare owners to take in extra Pokémon if he got his hands full. He gave me a family-friend discount too when I asked about it, and I have the savings from the odd jobs and credits from Pokémon battles, and I got loads from the Sinnoh League… thing is, I got enough, so I… bought it off him.” 

He is breezing through it all in about three breaths, which mildly concerns Arceus that he may be forgetting his need for oxygen. 

Only then the meaning dawns on the Alpha Legend with a start. It takes a shamefully long time for someone who prides on its intuitiveness, but… 

_-Ash, are you truly saying that you… you are buying this land?_

“Already bought it. I’ve done with the papers too, which Gary helped me with. That’s why I was with him this morning.” Ash is twiddling his thumbs and staring resolutely at the farmhouse as if trying to decipher mysterious meanings behind the crooked planks on one of the walls. “It’s a bit far from Pallet Town, but I can ride my Gogoat when coming here – or ask one of my Pokémon to Fly me here, that works too.” 

_-Ash, I have no idea whatsoever that you are planning on doing farm works now…_

It is possible but still a little far-fetched considering Ash’s interests and his lifestyles. Besides, he has never expressed the slightest inkling of dabbling in agricultural works during their hours-long conversations, either before or after his acceptance of Arceus as its life-partner. 

“Oh, no. I’m not good at it. But I thought… It’s not looking pretty right now, but we can get it to work. We can’t just live in my family home, it’ll be embarrassing and weird. And… well, my mom, you know. My apartment is going to be cramped to you, and there’ll be no privacy. There’s too many people living in the same building and neighbours are literally on the other side of the walls. I swear I could hear voices like when they’re talking or –” 

He stops himself with an effort as a new bout of blushing wreaks havoc on his cheeks. He takes his cap off and busies his fingers through his very messy hair unnecessarily. 

“Anyway. The point is, I don’t have any place that you can really lay back and relax. You must be a lot more comfortable in your original body, which is why you changed back every night when you stayed in Pallet Town. But here… if I can make this place fit for living – and I’m _sure_ I can, just give me a little bit time – there will be room for you to be just as you are, and people don’t come here often so you don’t have to worry being seen.” 

Arceus is honestly reeling from the influx of his words and all the implications therein; it is almost like a strike of mental-equivalent of Bullet Punch to its brain. Arceus can be fairly unexpected itself that this should not be as astonishing, but this is too sudden, too much… too _surprising._

Arceus rarely loses control of its speech but now is an exception: _-…Ash, you should not have done it._

Immediately, the excitement on the Ketchum’s face vanishes, like campfire that is extinguished by a sudden pouring of rain. Disappointment is a generous term to give the downcast look that befalls Ash and how his bright eyes lose their clever, delightful twinkle. The curve of his smile flattens into a tight, pale line, and his face muscles visibly twitch in a struggle not to grimace. 

“Oh. Well. Um, sorry… I thought it was a good idea. Don’t know why I would.” He dons back his cap and pulls it extra low so most of his upper face is hidden in the shadows cast by the overhanging visor. “It’s insulting, isn’t it? I mean, you got your huge fancy castle and all…” 

_-Now wait a minute, Ash Ketchum._ Arceus’ momentarily disorganized mind snaps back into focus. Ash must have sensed that something is happening to the Original One, hence his instinctive retreat when he is approached. He goes no further than two steps before an unseen rock in the grasses cause him to trip and falls, though Arceus’ aural tendril whips forth to balance him back to his feet. This somehow convinces him to stay and listen, and Arceus is not about to waste the chance after the accidental bluntness. 

_-You will take back your words, and I shall take back mine. Listen carefully: ‘Should not’, as in, ‘You are not obliged’._

“I – … Come again?” 

_-Ash, you are not obliged to provide shelter for me. You should not have burdened yourself to lavish me with such luxuries; it is I who must conform – and have I not done so all these while?_

“It’s not ‘luxury’. It’s just a rickety old barn… and an empty field…” He gestures around them, helpless and confused. 

_-And you spend your fortunes on obtaining it for my convenience, when you could have used it for your ends! Surely… surely, I must have been unintentionally arrogant to you, or present myself as dissatisfied in some way; that you feel compelled to provide for me._

From the Hall of Origin, everything outside seems to move at such unhurried pace that they appear near-static. There is a certain degree of awkwardness when during the first few days of its stay, but Arceus only needs time to adjust itself accordingly. Time always does that – make new things old, strange things familiar – as it has done and will continue to do until the end of it all. Furthermore, Arceus is no stranger to the bare necessities outside of its Hall of Origin, in which it invests more of its time to meditate rather than pamper itself with the creature comforts it installs on whims instead of requirement. 

Somewhere along its line to fit itself into Ash’s faster-moving life, a force of habit must have reared its ugly head and makes it appear discontented with its time on Earth… 

“Oh god, no – That’s not what _I_ meant.” Suddenly, he lets out a laughter more confused than happy, and says, “We’re such a mess, aren’t we? You didn’t force me, or make me feel like it. I thought that it’ll be better for both of us to have somewhere to stay – just you and me, together.” 

He touches the gift that has been returned to him, now a golden ring that sits on his finger as though it has always belonged there. 

“I thought I would have time to fix things a little or make it nicer while you were gone, but you came back earlier than I expect. When you showed me this ring, of course I couldn’t help from telling you about what I’m planning…” 

It either feels like Arceus is being intoxicated or doused with a cold, clarifying splash of water. There are too much happening in too short a time that Arceus struggles to place itself correctly in the whole scene and not make a mistake easily avoidable with understanding. If the Alpha has less control of its body, it may as well stagger on its feet with the confusing back-and-forth that slams into its conscience and tossing it around like a sailboat in a gale. 

“So… let’s get this straight: I don’t have to but I want to do this for you – for us – and I hope you like it.” 

It is just like Ash to manage something of a love-nest after they are properly bonded and mated. As if Arceus needs more proof that its mate really does live up to his reputation for being unconventional. 

_-…Yes, Ash. Definitely yes. You could not have flattered me more than a place to call our own._

If its mind does not warn of the possible damage to his body, Arceus may have let loose and tackle him to the ground so that it can kiss and lick him all over, never mind that this may just be the bond-hunger talking. Its restrain is tested again – and thankfully, it holds up still – when the young man’s face lights up with his teeth-showing smile. 

“Let’s take a look inside, Arceus.” 

The barn door finally slides creakily on the unoiled rail when Arceus comes to lend its strength after full-body pushes from Ash and Pikachu prove to be futile. The sounds cause Arceus to flinch minutely and Ash to grit his teeth, while Pikachu clasps his paws on his downturned ears with an expression not too far from what his Trainer is wearing. However, the interior fares with the elements much better than initially expected when going only by its outside, albeit the signs of abandon is still prominent. Shafts of sunlight streams inside from the little gaps in the closed windows and in-between the planks of walls, revealing swirling dust motes that trace the tiny air currents that carry them haphazardly. Farming tools like hay rake, pitchforks, hoes and spades lean on a section of the sturdier walls, rusted and grey with settling dust. The floor is only visible at select patches towards the front while the far end of the barn is dominated by straws and dusty bales of hay. The haylofts overhead are similarly occupied, though access seems rather dangerous with the unstable ladders that connect the levels to the barn floor. A hay-mow as high as Arceus claims the corner under one of these haylofts. The place smells of wood and dust and old summer, now forgotten for life in big cities. 

Clapping his hands, he sends out updrafts that reveal more dust motes in front of him. He coughs sheepishly and declares, “Perfect.” 

It is not, but Arceus can see how it can be after they are done with it. The major frame structure is still intact, anyhow, which will save a lot of resources when they start renovating it. The wood planking of the main barn floor looks undamaged where it is not covered in dust and straws. The roofing beams and the roof-tiles are in equally good conditions, accounting for the warmth and dryness that preserves the place. There are signs of occupations – not humans, but wildlife must have used this place for shelter sometimes; there are sounds of cooing Swellows from the high eaves even now – so cleaning is in serious order here. 

“Arceus? You look like you already have plans.” He grins when Arceus merely huffs, proving that his assumption is spot-on. “I’m with you, though. Can’t wait to see it finished and have it to ourselves. I’ve checked the well and the water supply looks good – we just need to get automatic plumping and pipes installed. The toilet needs fixing too. I’m thinking of solar panels and generators for electric; I guess I can ask for Clemont’s help there. Give me a few months, I think, then I can start bringing in the furniture.” 

_-A few weeks,_ Arceus corrects him, eyes sweeping around the barn in all its hay-littered glory. _-One week is the fastest. I can help you with some of the cleaning and repairing._

“Really? It’s going to be a lot of work here.” 

Arceus shakes its head in a manner of an upset Rapidash and stomps its hoof on the wood flooring. _-Ash, I have built my palace from the ground up under my own power and with disadvantages against dimensional fluxes._

“Point taken.” 

In truth, Arceus can manage it all on its own but knowing its mate, he will object to relegating all of his shares in the labours vehemently. He takes pride in honest works that he accomplishes with his own power. Help is welcomed but Ash will not have it if he is given no part to contribute, especially since he has called it _their_ place. The Alpha can certainly respect him not to breach on his sense of responsibility, though it sees no fault in helping a little more behind his back and avoid such protests… 

“You can add things for yourself too – Personal touch, as they say.” Arceus can readily sense the mischief brewing around him before he continues nonchalantly, “Just don’t go overboard with the gold and white marble pillars. Humungous doors are fine, but don’t forget ladders to the windows so I can climb out.” 

It is a gentle pat on the back for Arceus’ standard from its hoof, but enough to send a heavyset human, let alone Ash’s lean form, stumbling before landing smack in the patch of straws in front of him, his surprised shouts muffled into straws-filled coughs. He rolls to his back, spitting chaff and dried stalks, his brown eyes lively like the gleaming of smooth river-rocks filtered through clear streams. 

“Not fair, Arceus,” is what he is saying, but his words do not matter. There is a rasp of residual coughs, a growl of surprise, a note of fondness in the utterance of its name. It does strange things to Arceus who feels strongly the stirring in its chest and branches out upwards into the space behind its eyes; and downwards into the centre of its stomach. 

_Too sensitive,_ its instinct cries out, a quiet voice that has been dutifully hushed and buried beneath its other concerns, now begging to be heeded. _Too little. Too long. Too much waiting._

Arceus shifts uncomfortably from one side to another but his laughter as Ash looks on at Pikachu cannonballing into a hay-mow and sending up billowing chaff and dust is making things worse for the silent Legend. On one hand, it has been too long a stretch, it should be considered a miracle that Arceus manages to hold out on what little remains of their previous mating – this is the territory of its wilder instincts that usually pay no heed to chivalry or self-control. On the other, it feels much too crass for its taste to ask of it out of the blue and without prior hints from the young man himself. 

Careful fingers touch the rise of a leg-bone. Arceus casts its gaze downwards to the Ketchum, who is now sitting on the barn floor and looking back with a questioning arch of his eyebrows. 

_It wants. Give, take, taken – it does not matter._

“Are you okay?” 

_No,_ its mind replies as his touch brings flame to the spark already flickering to life in the Alpha. Instead, it says, _-I wish to rest for a moment._

Ash’s searching eyes are drawn in a thoughtful frown while his hand continues to massage the leg. His face gradually loses the natural skin-colour under the spreading blush that comes with neither warning nor indication of its source. 

“You, um, you feel up for… ‘it’?” 

Perhaps Arceus means to say something, though a yes or no is lost in the unexpected moan. Hearing the noise coming unbidden, Arceus tosses its head angrily until its mind clears out enough to make meaningful sentences. 

_-Am I being too obvious?_

“Not really. But I can feel it, sort of,” and he motions towards the centre of his chest. “You’ve been holding back, don’t you? It feels like it’s hurting you.” 

Despite itself, its ears twitch in amusement. _-It does not hurt, but I am constantly reminded of it._

Ash scratches his scalp sheepishly, apparently unsure if he should be straightforward or try to act more courteous about it. “I… I don’t mind, you know. I’ve missed our time when we were at your place.” 

_-Is that an invitation I hear?_ Arceus’ chuckles rumble heavily in its chest but it presses its forehead against Ash’s shoulder with feather-soft touches. His scent is delectable as ever, coaxing it to graze him lightly under his chin. 

“Oh – Here? Right now?” 

_NOW,_ the animal in Arceus snarls – but an animal is not what the Legend truly is. Its desire is strong, but it should not make slave out of the Original One. Not right now, at least. 

_-I do not see why not,_ it says instead; suggestively, pleadingly, doing its best to keep its contact on Ash’s person with their glaring size difference. 

Ash shrugs but gives no hint of stopping Arceus’ little nuzzles to his upper body. It emboldens Arceus to lower itself right there in front of him, so as to better reach him and simply look at his beautiful face more closely. He bursts out laughing suddenly, the reds on his face spreading to the ears peeking out from the tangles of his hair. The cap has already slipped off – or taken off – at some point unknown to Arceus. “Do you actually have a thing about making out outdoors, Arceus?” 

As out of place as it is, an almost academic curiousity tugs at Arceus’ conscience that prevents it from giving a straight answer. _-What makes you say that? Our mating so far happened in my bedchamber, and we are hardly being outdoors right now._

“Michina shrine, after I said ‘yes’.” He stops to chuckle again, his brightening Aura a wild mixture of embarrassment, humour and excitement. “We started in that forest-garden place before we moved to the bedroom. And I’ve been getting this feeling I was saying ever since you came back; I just didn’t know what it’s supposed to be at first.” 

_-Perhaps I am simply indifferent,_ Arceus says and surprises itself that an unintentional, throaty purr accompanies its mental voice. Ash grins approvingly at the wild sounds so Arceus decides that the slip is forgivable as long as its mate is alright with it. 

“So, you’re saying that we both want this?” 

_-I thought that is what YOU were suggesting._

The loud barks of Pikachu yank them both back to the solid, hay-and-barn present; the figure of Ash’s companion calls out once again from the doorway, having somehow sneaked past the couple unnoticed from the other end of the building and shaking off straws and chaffs out of his fur. He waves enthusiastically before bounding off into sunlight. 

“Hey!” Ash calls out but realizes that he is either out of range or Pikachu is intentionally pretending that this is the case as he speeds out of the Trainer’s sight. “What’s that about?” 

_-A few hours sound absolutely wonderful,_ Arceus says. Its tongue runs over the upper row of its teeth, but this is unnoticed to the Alpha until it feels the edge of its mouth becomes wetter. _-My dear, I shall make every second worth it._

The purring deepens without it meaning so, but again Ash looks all the more elated because of it. His scent changes a little too, the musky basis rising to compete with the light, fruity sweetness that is more prominent otherwise. Mere smells become inadequate; it pushes its face against him and lets out its tongue to taste it off his neck where it is most easily accessible with his clothes still on. 

“Arceus, whoa, wait –” 

The resulting noise from Arceus is halfway between a grunt and a whine, but the questioning tone is recognizable. Immediately, Ash struggles to get out of his vest and t-shirt and throws them in the general direction where his cap lays lonesome in the hay. Arceus takes the time to adjust itself accordingly and shrinks down to a more manageable size to be handled by a human partner. It is a simpler procedure than outright transformation between species, and Arceus has been working on this particular skill. Ash is fumbling with his jeans when Arceus is already finished, even going so far as to retract its golden wheel; the Alpha approaches him from behind, one long leg sliding a little forward to encourage the human to lean against its body. It sniffs him along the sloping outline of his shoulders; the unmistakable manly smell sends its mind spinning with salacious thoughts. 

The animal inside howls: _No more waiting. Now. Quickly._

Arceus reins in the wildness and pushes away the hanging messes of Ash’s hair to kiss his nape softly. For being in this state, the Alpha Legend is remarkably constrained and gentle, its speech remains unimpeded save for the heavy breaths it sends wafting across Ash’s back. 

_-Ash, I ask for a favour. Allow me to stay as I am for now. I will oblige being a lover of your choice after this one time._

Finally, Ash manages to shimmy his jeans down his legs without sacrificing Arceus’ touch and steps out of the denims puddling at his feet. Only his tight shorts remain, hugging the curve of his behind tantalizingly. This he removes with relative ease, but Arceus insists on the chest-to-back position for a little while longer. It licks a long, wet stripe into the line of his spine, from the meeting of his shoulder-blades down to the lows of his hips. That subtle taste collecting on its tongue makes its tail swishes in agitation. 

Ash reaches back, making a wild guess on the placement of Arceus’ head behind him and manages to find the ear, which he strokes. Through the sounds of Arceus’ happy rumbles, he says, “Don’t you understand, Arceus? I like you no matter how you look.” 

Arceus feels its guard lowering as its perseverance crumbles; feels the body stirring and preparing itself for its mate. It grows and opens, becoming slick and heavy. The desire flows like liquid fire and pools where Arceus is most susceptible. The sound of its heated moans makes Ash turn around to face Arceus properly, revealing his flushed, sweaty face, his lively and hopeful eyes, his bashful smile. The closeness limits its view of the rest of his body but sight is not the only sense that registers his anticipation. One of his arms drapes loosely around the base of its neck, and the other hand massages along its throat and ends at the roots of its ears – he knows too well that Arceus is vulnerable to touch there. Ash must be purposefully grazing his ringed finger more than necessarily adequate, but each trail of warm metal makes Arceus arches with a delighted whimper it never wants anybody else to hear. The ring gives no response, but Ash is very persistent that Arceus is drowning with the physical and mental stimulations. 

_Want. Need. Mate._

Arceus has little words left. This boy is going to be its undoing and it welcomes the notion. 

What it wants to say are words that are known but unfamiliar to most Magical Creatures, being that humans who come up with them. In the solitudes that generally surround the Legendary ones, precious few instances are actually appropriate anyway. Arceus turns the phrase over in its mind, tasting the sweet tenderness of it, feeling what it shares with Ash being more than enough justification to use for themselves. 

_-Make love to me, dearest Ash._

Ash slips under and catches Arceus’ mouth in a kiss, his acknowledgement sealed in the meeting of his lips to its lipless maw. Its jaws part for him, their tongues flirting in playful search for mastery over each other. His fingers caress across its hide and along its neck; Arceus takes the careful steps forward, goading its mate to make matching retreat until they reach the mounds of haystack in the darkened corners of the barn. Arceus deepens the kiss, practically crushing its mouth against Ash and pushing him bodily that the Ketchum loses his balance; Ash gasps in surprise but the leg crossed over the back of his knees cling them together. Together, they are plunged into the lush hay-mow, dry straws billowing around them, the smell of faint, leafy sweetness of hay surrounding the couple as the mound stops yielding to their weight and they come to rest in a hay-crater of their making. 

A small pause follows as the two gather their breaths and shift around to accommodate themselves in the makeshift bedding. However, both have been patient for longer than they would have liked, and the reward cannot have come any sooner. The connection between them grows the more they touch each other, strengthening slowly but surely. In that forgotten building, the sound of the Original One in need echoes shamefully yet satisfyingly loud alongside the softer moans and grunts of its human mate, for once – after a long while – managing to find the fulfilment that they have craved so desperately in each other. 

  


*

  


In the private sanctums beneath their respective lakes, the Guardians of Spirit lay in deep slumber to the naked eyes should an outsider is capable of observing any of them. However, their connected minds remain awake and very much aware of the Earthly Realm and its hidden planes of existence – and to some other aspects as well. 

_-…Oh,_ whispers a voice: Mesprit’s. 

The other two stirs at the sudden feed from their Emotion brethren. They are less perceptive in this aspect, but linked as they are, they too sense it when given the time. 

_-The Master,_ murmurs Uxie, their brethren of Knowledge. 

_-Ah, there he is,_ Azelf says knowingly; they can hear the grin in its words and sense it through their links. _-Ash Ketchum._

Arceus can be quite difficult to bear at times – the Original One can be too fierce, too intense, the purity of its presence is like the unforgiving sun that dries the ocean and lays waste to fertile lands. But as things go, the Original One is also possessing of a side that seems entirely different until one remembers that these are merely another facet of the same gem. 

The sun that brings the drought is the same star that gives life, after all. 

What the Lake Guardians perceive now from their innate connections to Arceus is the latter – An abundance of life and vigour the likes almost unachievable without the accompanying presence. A reverse Icarus – the one who flies to the sun and not only lives to tell the tale, but revels in its warmth and light, worships it and loves it with one’s heart and soul, lifted on the updraft so they may be closer still. Ash Ketchum does not burn beside Arceus; he shines with light of his own, a brilliant blue spark in the midst of Arceus’ dazzling Aura – gold with prismatic, rainbow fringes – flirting and caressing its larger partner as no one can or allowed to do. For him, Arceus yields, laying its core bare to his touch; a tremendous show of trust and intimacy as they give and take in equal measures. It is exhilarating and hypnotic to observe. It always does when two Auras dance through their bonding, like so. Just like Arceus to pour itself so wholeheartedly into its endeavours, creating a breath-taking art form as they strike the balance between man and Legend; an Earth-bound mortal and a cosmic entity. 

Lovers are one thing; however, a bonded mate for a Legend is an entirely different matter that essentially rearranges the fabric of one’s existence. 

_-Good for them,_ Mesprit says sheepishly. Physical intimacy almost always follows such passionate displays, more so that one of the participants is a human: They are such _tactile_ creatures. It does not embarrass them when the subject of sex comes into question, but even so, the languid strokes of Arceus’ Aura against Ash’s speaks of treasured privacy that, in its own ways, _does_ embarrass the Lake Guardians for prying. 

As one, they shield themselves from the radiance of the bonding souls, feeling consciously guilty yet thrilled of the witnessing. 

And yet, and yet… 

Uxie, the Being of Knowledge, senses something comes over it after watching the Aural dance between its Master and the human consort. Its Aspect awakens; a knowledge, ancient even by the Legend’s standards, settles in its mind with a cool and soothing assurance. 

_-What is it?_ Azelf prompts. Though it is not its function, it can still feel the sense of lightness that preludes such revelations as afforded by their respective Aspects. 

_-Share with us,_ Mesprit says. Its excitement trills through their connections. Among them, Uxie is the most sparing with its gift of wisdom that whenever it is granted of the Legend, its kin has a cause to be interested in it. 

For all the odds that Arceus has faced and agreed to endure, the Lake Guardians can sense in the quiet moments of its solitude the lurking melancholy of its choice. The Original One whose centuries ought to have meant nothing, has now discovered the silent oppression behind the relentless ticking of time, thinking of every heartbeat of its human mate as he lives his life from one second to another. For a love that many has sought but few are fortunate enough to discover, Arceus is willing to accept what it can while it lasts. Nevertheless… 

Uxie recalls the pulses of Arceus’ radiance and the littler glow of the human, twirling around one another like the dance of binary stars. How they first came to face each other – Arceus in its mad anger, Ash with the selfless need to protect, and the turn of event that brings everything to its knees and rebuilds anew. Twice Arceus has been saved by a stranger’s kindness, and for each of them the Original One holds in high regards. A debt of life is not just a phrase when the one concerned is granted with powers of such magnitude, and when the deed itself is so untainted; it is a contract, a promise. For Ash, it goes beyond that – how is it that of all the beings in existence, Arceus should desire him as its mate is not Uxie’s to question, but the result is unmistakable. Over the bond of life when Ash has saved it, Arceus overlays it further with the bond of love, binding their two souls more securely than the waves and the sea, inseparable like a song and its melody… like life and death itself. 

_-I think… I think they have underestimated the strength of their union, Arceus and Ash,_ Uxie says, its voice floating with the wonder of it all and how the near-impossible comes to pass. 

In the heart of Allearth Forest, as Ash wanders the wasteland of the Edge of Dreams in Yveltal’s care, Xerneas has stood witness to Arceus giving him its own life so he may not fade senselessly. They have shared and sacrificed far more than what is expected of them – than what is ordinary for either of them. 

Its kin of the Being of Spirit listen attentively, wholly, their senses alive with the amazement flowing from Uxie as the Aspect of Wisdom engulfs it. In a far-off voice that speaks as though it is reciting a long-memorized line, Uxie speaks to them the truth which has been revealed: 

_**-No man can live forever… except he who possesses the heart of a Star.** _

**Author's Note:**

> This work is originally posted on FFN, but because of reasons, I'm slowly moving it here. It is already finished there, but I don't know how to post here just as quickly in one sitting. I may update once in a few days, depending on my schedule. To new readers, welcome; to old ones from FFN, welcome back. As always, any interaction with this fic (reading, kudo-ing, commenting, etc.) is greatly appreciated!
> 
> Edit: I've finished updating the chapters here in AO3, sorry it took me so long.


End file.
